


Dirty (when done right)

by thehomodabrothers (orphan_account)



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: M/M, Stripper AU, angry masturbation, introducing tadashi's hat spider, specifically stripper tadashi, there is now a handjob, this is filth forgive me lord for i have sinned, with a special appearance by hiro's sentient iPod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 94,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehomodabrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the kind of guy who looks like he'd suck your dick, the money out of your wallet and the soul right out of your body?</p><p>Yeah. That half-naked waiter over there? He looks like that kind of guy.</p><p>(There's a stripper Hiro's having a little trouble staying away from. If his personality is anywhere near as nice as his ass, then Hiro's pretty fucked - and not in the fun way, either.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> by thehomodabrothers.

 

 

“It’s a little sad,” says Hiro, “that you’re the only friend I’ve got.”

 

Fred pats him on the back. “Aww, that’s not true. You’ve got Honey Lemon, right?”

 

“Yes, but Honey Lemon isn’t the kind of person who’d willingly step foot into a strip club, you know?”

 

Fred opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “Yeah, no, I can’t argue with that.”

                              

It’s a good thing Fred’s got no qualms about this sort of thing, then. Hiro’s eighteen. Freshly minted and ready to paint the town red. A small section of the town, maybe, because Aunt Cass wants him home for the night, but the point of the matter is that he’s going to go wild. Not waste his night indoors, playing video games and eating instant ramen. He’s going to do whatever trashy things it is that adults do. Ergo, here he is, in the trashiest place he can think of; San Fransokyo’s red light district, waiting for admittance into the city’s most popular exotic dance club.

 

Which he _is_ old enough to go in to, thanks, even if the other people in the line are giving him odd looks. Hiro glares back. He may be waiting outside in the cold to spend money on half-naked dancers and booze, but is he the only one? No. They’re all just as sleazy as he is right now, so nobody’s got any right to judge him, even if he does stick out like sore phalange.

 

Speaking of phalanges, his are starting to go numb. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and bounces a bit to keep warm. A sudden gust of wind makes him shiver, and Hiro shuffles behind Fred in the hopes of using him as a shield. He should have brought gloves. From this distance he can hear a steady bass thump from inside the club. Sounds like dubtsep. At least there’s one thing about this whole situation that he’s familiar with.

 

Fred steps forward as the line moves, checking over his shoulder to make sure Hiro doesn’t get lost in the crowd. “You ready for this, dudebro?”

 

“Hell yes,” says Hiro.

 

It’s a lie. He’s nowhere near ready, because he’s never actually seen a real-live naked person, and Honey Lemon’s mildly shocked expression upon learning their plans is still making him guilty, and he doesn’t even want to _think_ about what Aunt Cass would do if she found out where he was, but it’s a bit too late to change his mind now. They’re almost at the doors, and the bouncer asks for their ID as though this is the most boring day of her life.

 

Fred hands his over, and is waved through without much of a fuss. Hiro, on the other hand, feels cold sweat start to prickle on the back of his neck when the bouncer shines her flashlight on him.

 

He looks young for his age. He _knows_ this, even uses it to get children’s tickets at the movies sometimes. He’s legally eighteen, though, and he shouldn’t be feeling this nervous as the young woman in front of him squints at his ID and then up at him.

 

“Is there something wrong?” Hiro manages, voice cracking a little.

 

She doesn’t answer, instead raising one immaculate eyebrow and letting her gaze fall back onto his ID. “Just turned legal?”

“Yes.” _Scrutinize all you want,_ Hiro thinks to himself a little bitterly. _It’s real._

 

It seems she comes to the same conclusion, because she hands the document back to him and nods, purple-streaked hair falling into her eyes. “Fine. Go in. First drink’s half-off.”

 

Hiro thanks her and hurries over to join Fred, who’s waiting patiently by the entrance. His gut’s got no right, acting so relieved; he’s done absolutely nothing wrong, and it’s not his fault he looks like a kid. Fred smiles at him understandingly. Hiro doesn’t return it, cheeks colouring slightly in embarrassment.

 

The music hits them like a physical blow to the chest once they get inside. Fred yells something that Hiro can’t hear above the noise, but points to the bar. Hiro follows obediently. A half-naked girl winks at him as she passes by, and Hiro finds himself clinging to the back of Fred’s jacket without really meaning to. It’s very possible that he should have gotten drunk _before_ coming here.

 

The bartender is a dark-skinned man built like a linebacker, and he makes a disapproving face when Fred leans his elbows on the surface of the pristine wooden counter. Fred doesn’t notice. He says something that Hiro can’t hear, and the bartender nods, dreadlocks bouncing a little with the movement. He slides a couple of tiny glasses over to them along with a saucer.

 

Fred pays by card before Hiro can do anything. Hiro shrugs. It’s his birthday. He’s not averse to being spoilt.

 

Fred hands him his drink. It’s got a little lime wedge balanced on it, and the liquid inside is an odd honey colour. Hiro watches Fred dip his finger into the white stuff on the saucer -sugar? salt? _cocaine?_ \- and sprinkle it onto his hand. He licks it off right after, and then downs what’s in the glass and bites into his lime.

 

The saucer’s offered to him, next. Hiro squints at it, and then shrugs and mimics whatever Fred did before. The white stuff turns out to be salt. Hiro doesn’t get to mull on the oddity of this for long, because alcohol, as it turns out, stings like a _bitch_. The lime helps somewhat, although he can still feel his face contorting into a grimace. He can see Fred laughing, the bastard. He sets his shot glass down and coughs.

 

Everything is cleared off the counter instantly, followed by a cloth wet with what smells like disinfectant. The bartender handles everything with terrifying efficiency. Fred nudges Hiro and points at the drinks on display with a questioning glance, but Hiro waves him off, stomach feeling oddly warm. If this is how drinking is meant to feel, he’s not sure if he likes it.

 

Peeling off his hoodie, he turns around to take a proper look at his surroundings. The club is dark, air thick with smoke and the smell of alcohol. Hiro’s nowhere near tall enough to see over the crowd, but there’s a stage that takes up a good part of the room that he can see fairly clearly. A woman in a schoolgirl uniform twirls around the metal pole in the centre, leaning back until she’s upside-down and her skirt succumbs to gravity, exposing her underwear.

 

Which, if Hiro thinks about it, might not even be underwear. Maybe half a set of underwear, because it doesn’t really cover anything. He wonders for a brief moment if this is just bad luck on her part, but the hoots and applause from the crowd seem to suggest that the ass-flash is intentional.

 

He swallows. He’s got the urge to respectfully look away, but that would probably defeat the purpose of coming here a little bit. He does his best not to look guilty.

 

Fred taps him on the shoulder, waving a thin stack of one-dollar notes in his face. “You’re supposed to tip the dancers,” he says loud enough for Hiro to hear.

 

“Which ones?” Hiro yells back.

 

Fred laughs. “Any one you want!” he says, and shoves.

 

Hiro’s pushed into the crowd without warning. He stumbles a bit and turns around to maybe punch Fred in the arm, but he’s nowhere to be seen. People surge into the gap between Hiro and the bar, blocking Fred from view completely.

 

He has a brief moment of panic, being alone in this big crowd of people with men and women making eyes at him. Taking a deep breath helps. He’s got a phone in his pocket, and Fred isn’t irresponsible enough to leave him completely adrift. Hiro hopes so, anyway, as someone jostles him from behind. Dying in this club would probably upset Honey terribly.

 

Pushing through the throngs, he makes his way to somewhere a bit less busy, slipping away from drunk people trying to get him to stop and dance. He’s starting to feel a little drunk himself. Pretty sad, considering he’s only had the one shot, but in his defense he’s never had a drop of alcohol in his life. Aside from stealing sips of Aunt Cass’s wine, maybe, but that hardly counts.

 

 

The music’s really not half bad, come to think of it. The people seem nice enough, nobody’s bothered him, and the lights are pleasantly colourful. Flashy. Putting him in a trance. He’s getting sleepy. Mentally fuzzy, like his brain’s slowly vacating his head, leaving him to float around listlessly behind him. Someone smiles at him and he smiles back. Maybe he _can_ get used to this whole alcohol thing.

 

Although, more of it would be nice, because he can still guess the frequency of that one green light that keeps shining straight into his face. He doesn’t actually know how drunk he is, but at this point it’s probably not drunk enough. _Why was I ever nervous,_ he thinks to himself. There’s an area near the wall which doesn’t have too many people around. It looks like a good place to sit around and just sort of...exist.

 

He ends up at an empty table, sinking into the cushions. He’s got the good sense not to try to help himself to an abandoned drink, but damn if it isn’t tempting right now. Shutting his eyes with a soft sigh, he leans his head back. Once he collects himself, maybe he can see about really getting the party started.

 

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder before he can do anything. Hiro almost jumps out of his skin.

 

There’s a man frowning at him, tugging insistently at his sleeve. Hiro blinks owlishly as he’s manhandled off the comfy sofa and into a corner, too startled to protest. The stranger looks him up and down. Hiro squints back a little blearily, wondering if maybe he’s heard Hiro’s silent plea for a drink and has come to deliver.

 

His hopes are dashed cruelly into the dance floor. Leaning over, the man raises his voice so Hiro will hear him. “Aren’t you a little young to be in here?”

 

Hiro frowns. “Excuse me? I’m eighteen. I have every _right_ to be here.”

 

The newcomer doesn’t seem convinced. “Let me see your ID.”

 

“ _No,_ ” Hiro tries to snap, although it probably sounds more petulant than affronted. “I showed the bouncer my ID. I don’t need to prove myself to some,” he pauses to look the other man up and down, “ _underdressed waiter-_ woah, hold on, are you wearing anything under that apron?”

 

The man sighs. “Come on, kid, let’s get you home.”

 

Hiro tries to pull his arm out of the waiter’s grip and fails. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, drawing himself to his full height, which is regretfully unimpressive because he kind of still has to look up. “I’m legal. Ask the bouncer lady.”

 

The waiter pauses. “The female bouncer? Purple hair?”

 

“Yes,” says Hiro, tilting his head discretely in the hope of catching a glimpse under the little black apron tied around the man’s hips. “You’re making a big deal over nothing. Say, how do you get your collar to stay in place if you’re not actually wearing a shirt?”

 

“Magic,” says the waiter dryly, releasing Hiro and making him totter a little. “Please stop staring at me. If you want to see what’s under the apron, you have to pay for it.”

 

Realisation dawns slowly over Hiro’s face like butter over hot toast. “You,” he says, “are a _stripper.”_

The man sighs again. “Good job. I am, in fact, a stripper. Would you like a medal, Sherlock?”

 

“No,” says Hiro with a vindictive grin. “I want a lapdance.”

 

 

 

The waiter - _psuedo_ waiter- gives him a long look, eyebrow raised. “You want a lapdance,” he repeats flatly.

 

“Yup. A lapdance. With, uhm, stripping! And, like. Maybe a couple more drinks. But not shots. Those are gross.”

 

“What kind of shots did you have?”

 

“Uh, brown ones?”

 

“You’ve never been to a club before, have you?”

 

“...no.”

 

“Unbelievable.” Taking him by the wrist, he leads Hiro through the teeming masses of bodies and back to the bar. People make way for them; the fake waiter looks bizarrely comfortable with the crowd, avoiding wandering hands and lecherous gazes with practiced ease. Hiro’s a little jealous. It’s not fair that he’s being tossed around like a leaf in the wind, he thinks, frowning at the man’s lightly muscled back. If he were maybe three inches taller, life would be easier.

 

The bartender’s expression is a lot more cheerful upon seeing the waiter-stripper-man, although he does raise an eyebrow at Hiro. “What’ll it be?”

 

Hiro falters. Stripperman takes pity on him and orders something Hiro forgets the name of immediately.

 

It’s embarrassingly frou-frou and pink, but it does taste good. Hiro sips at it appreciatively as Stripperman leads him through the club yet again, this time around the fringes. They pass cage dancers and more people in ridiculously skimpy outfits. Hiro’s not sure where to focus his attention; his drink is good, but the strippers are all stupidly attractive to him right now, but he should also probably be looking for Fred because he hasn’t seen him in a while and he doesn’t want to have to go home alone, but also this drink is _seriously good-_

“Thirty dollars for a dance,” says Stripperman, nudging open the door to a tiny private room. “Another ten if you want me to strip. No touching. Feel free to tip me, though.” He sounds almost bored as he steers Hiro onto the couch at the end of the room, although he does grace him with a little smile when Hiro sits down and starts patting his pockets for cash. “Sit tight, I’ll turn the music on.”

 

The room’s soundproofed, so they can’t hear the rest of the club once Stripperman closes the door. It’s also very pink, like being inside a vagina. Glittery, too, so like, a bedazzled vagina or something. Whatever. The important thing is that the couch is comfy, so Hiro settles further into it with a sigh.

 

He’s only got thirty five dollars, which he holds up almost questioningly. Stripperman shrugs and tugs on the strap of his apron. Hiro blinks at him, and then realises that’s where he’s supposed to put the cash. He sticks the bills gingerly into the apron and sits back.

 

 

 

Stripperman’s music starts off oddly light, but the bass drops within ten seconds of him starting to shake his hips. They’re nice hips, Hiro has to admit, sipping on his drink with wide eyes. Kind of narrow, not that Hiro has any right to talk, but defined, stark cut-lines disappearing somewhere beneath that mysterious apron. Along with a trail of soft dark hair from his navel, although his chest is conspicuously bare. Absently, Hiro wonders if it’s East Asian genetics or the product of a lone razor by the sink somewhere.

 

The beat gets heavier. Stripperman’s movements slow down to match, hips rolling and fingers trailing formless patterns against his own torso. The way he dances is surprisingly masculine, head tilted back a little to show off the line of his jaw. Hands settle themselves on the back of the couch, on either side of Hiro’s head, trapping him in place and making him feel even smaller. Stripperman watches him with eyes half-lidded, bending over to breathe softly against the side of Hiro’s face. He squirms a bit from the unexpected proximity, although he doesn’t try to move away.

 

He’s not sure what he expected, come to think of it. Probably some pretty girl or boy in fancy lingerie, all graceful moves and long lashes to seduce him into handing over his money, his phone and his firstborn. Certainly not _this,_ anyway; some man in a silly waiter’s uniform, turning around to flex his shoulders and curve his spine into an arc right in front of Hiro’s face. Stretching both arms above his head so the muscles in his back shift around under his skin, swinging his hips like he’s in the middle of a dirty fantasy Hiro can’t see.

 

Not that Hiro’s complaining, really. The only reason he’s here is for the sake of retribution, because it’s incredibly rude to accuse someone of being too young for a strip club on their eighteenth birthday. He might as well enjoy the view while he’s here.

 

“Spacing out,” says Stripperman suddenly, flicking Hiro on the forehead, right between his eyebrows. “While I’m in the middle of trying to entertain you. Talk about rude.”

 

“You’re not supposed to touch me,” says Hiro sourly, sipping on his drink. It’s almost gone. He’ll have to get another one at the soonest opportunity.

 

Stripperman hums. “No, _you’re_ not supposed to touch _me. I,_ on the other hand, can do whatever I like with you.” He demonstrates this by plopping straight into Hiro’s lap, albeit carefully, seeing as he’s considerably bigger. There’s nowhere else for Hiro to look now, so he stares straight ahead at Stripperman’s naked torso, shining with some sort of oil under the moody lighting. A clever trick, Hiro thinks, glancing briefly at the ceiling. Leaning over him at this angle makes Stripperman look more built than he really is. The light sharpens his face, too, making his cheekbones seem like Hiro could hurt himself if he tried to touch them. Almost like a statue.

 

He realises with a start that Stripperman’s watching him with an irritatingly smug expression. “Something on my face?”

 

“I have no interest in your face,” Hiro assures him, glancing down to watch Stripperman slowly start grinding again just above Hiro’s hips. It’s weirdly hypnotic, and keeping hands to himself, as it turns out, is actually pretty difficult.

 

Stripperman laughs at him, a soft, breathy chuckle against his hair. “You got a name, kid?”

 

“Hiro,” he says, finishing the last dregs of his drink, watching unblinkingly as Stripperman plucks the cherry out of his glass and holds it to his lips. Hiro had been _saving_ that cherry, although he can hardly bring himself to mind when Stripperman sucks it slowly off its stem in a way that makes Hiro’s pants suddenly uncomfortable.

 

Which, unfortunately, is something Stripperman realises at the same time Hiro does. He doesn’t dare look up. Stripperman’s probably silently laughing at him. Hiro can almost _see_ his mouth contort in an effort not to smile. He keeps his eyes trained on the slight bulge under Stripperman’s apron, hoping the redness of his cheeks can be blamed on his cocktail.

 

He realises that Stripperman’s running his hand across his own leg, reaching for the tie on the side of his apron. It comes apart with a flick of his wrist, and the black fabric falls to the floor along with the Hiro’s money.

 

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that Stripperman’s wearing a pair of satin briefs underneath, but he’s an opportunist, so he takes a moment to admire how much more prominent the bulge is now. Stripperman laughs again.

 

“You know, I’d be offended if you _didn’t_ get hard,” he says quietly.

 

Hiro finally looks up, lips parting slightly in an effort to say something that doesn’t sound completely lame. “I thought it was ten extra to get you to strip.”

 

Well, so much for not being lame. Stripperman shrugs nonchalantly, grinding down into Hiro’s lap and then pulling away again, teasing him into wanting to buck his hips. “I’m not taking it all off. Just the outside, since you technically paid half.”

 

“Lucky me,” Hiro manages, wriggling in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure in his pants. It would be nice to run off to a bathroom and take care of it, but he knows the number one rule of strip clubs even despite being a lonely hermit. His breathing feels a little laboured. He wonders if this is how he dies.

 

Stripperman, as it turns out, is not the type to take prisoners. He climbs out of Hiro’s lap just long enough to turn around and sit down again, backwards this time, pert ass rubbing up against Hiro’s dick through his pants, and- yeah, okay, Stripperman’s ass is definitely his best, uh, _asset,_ and Hiro realises belatedly that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea, teasing a professional stripper into giving him a lapdance just to prove a point, because the tent in his pants is both physically and emotionally painful, and he didn’t even _know_ he was especially attracted to guys before this, but if Stripperman keeps this up then he’s going to have quite a lot of trouble explaining the inevitable mess he’s going to make in his pants and that’s really _not_ the kind of thing he wants to be worrying about when horny and drunk and-

 

“Hiro?”

 

Stripperman’s gone completely still, Hiro notices a little late. The music’s stopped, too, leaving them both in uncomfortable silence.

 

Hiro blinks. “Uh, what?”

 

“I said, time’s up,” Stripperman says slowly, mouth quirking a little at the corner. “Were you even paying attention?”

 

“Yes,” says Hiro thickly as Stripperman stands and stretches. He fiddles with the empty glass in his hand, wondering if he should help pick up the money and apron on the floor, but Stripperman beats him to it, gathering everything up neatly and tying his apron back on. He smiles at Hiro, still with that curious expression, head tilted back and making the tendons stand out in his neck.

 

“You were well-behaved,” he remarks, casually, making Hiro sputter in indignation.

 

“I’m not someone’s pet _dog_ , don’t call me well-behaved-”

 

Stripperman laughs. Actual laughter, this time, not hiding under the pretense of being sexy. He doesn’t try to hide the way he glances down at Hiro’s crotch, making him cross his legs self-consciously. “I suggest taking care of that at home, because the bathrooms here aren’t great. You got a ride?”

 

“Yeah,” says Hiro, tugging his hoodie lower so it covers his groin properly. The plan was to take a cab home with Fred, but there’s no way Hiro’s about to let anyone see him like this. Fred can take care of himself, probably. Hiro flashes a thumbs up anyway.

 

Stripperman gives him a lopsided grin and gestures to the door with a jerk of his head. “Take a moment if you have to. You can’t stay in here too long, though, someone else is gonna wanna use the room.”

 

“Sure,” says Hiro unhappily, thinking about Mochi’s litterbox in an effort to will his boner into submission. It doesn’t work. “I’ll be out in just a second.”

 

“It was nice meeting you,” says Stripperman, turning neatly on his heel, off to work again. “Thanks for coming.”

 

“I didn’t,” Hiro mutters under his breath as the door clicks shut. Sighing to himself, he tugs his phone out of his pocket and opens up his most recent thread of text messages.

 

_fred, where are you?_

It’s less than a minute before Fred replies. _In da club! girls are hto. party harddd_

Hiro rolls his eyes. _I’m gonna head home. Aunt Cass wants me back before too late._

His phone vibrates again. _U gona make it home k bro?_

_yeah, dont worry about me. take care of yourself._

_aaiiiiiight. happy birhtdays man!_

_thanks._ Hiro grins a little to himself. This birthday has been interesting, if ultimately unsatisfying. At least now Hiro can say he’s been drunk (still is, a bit), been to a strip club, and stayed out past midnight. He’ll have to remember to thank Fred properly tomorrow, if he’s not dead from alcohol poisoning already.

  
Speaking of alcohol poisoning, it’s weirdly difficult to walk in a straight line to get to the door. He feels more sober in his head, if that makes sense, although that doesn’t make it an easier to push past the people on the dance floor and make his way to the doors.

 

The unflappable bouncer’s still there, but she doesn’t spare him more than a glance as he pulls his hoodie tighter around himself and starts the walk back home. It’s not a short route, but luckily it’s one he’s familiar enough with that he shouldn’t get into too much trouble.

 

He’s right, thank all the gods. Nobody especially seedy looks his way as he hurries back home. Which is a blessing, really, because he doesn’t want to be mugged, especially not with slowly flagging wood. It makes walking kind of difficult, but he manages. Thankfully the unfortunate boner dies off before he gets to the cafe, so he’s free to unlock the doors and sneak upstairs without _that_ much worry of Aunt Cass finding him.

 

He successfully avoids all the creaky floorboards and opens the door to his room without incident. It’s almost indecent how good his bed looks to him right now. He collapses into the sheets, clothes and all. Slipping his sneakers off, he burrows into the blankets and shuts his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, loving arms of sleep to claim him.

 

It doesn’t happen.

 

 

 

His eyes pop open, and he makes a soft noise of anguish. He can’t get to sleep. Now that he’s alone and the excitement of the night has started wearing off, he suddenly feels wide awake, and -well, to tell the truth, this isn’t actually _bad_ timing for his boner to come back, but it’s not exactly, you know, welcome.

 

He presses both palms over his face and sighs. The logical part of his brain knows that he might as well take care of it and then go to sleep, but the stubborn, childish part of him suddenly resents Stripperman immensely. He’s not going to kid himself. He _knows_ what the source of the problem is, and he doesn’t appreciate the after-image of an almost-naked, irritatingly attractive man dancing behind his eyelids and fucking around with his libido.

 

The way he reaches into his pants is almost violent. Stupid sexy stripper. Never mind the fact that Hiro did very much bring this upon himself, he thinks, licking his right palm and wrapping it tightly around his shaft. One, two, three tugs and a soft grunt. He’s going to do this mechanical and quick. No moaning, no playing with himself, no replaying his first lapdance in his head and wishing for the sting of alcohol and the weight of another man on his thighs.

 

...or.

 

Well. Fuck it.

 

Seriously, fuck it. It’s his birthday.

 

He turns his face so he can bite into his pillow. Aunt Cass may sleep like a dead person, but that doesn’t mean he wants to take any risks. Tugging his pants off all the way and kicking them off the bed comes as a relief. His shirt comes off too, for good measure; if he’s going to indulge himself, he might as well do it right.

 

He’s never really had the need for lube, which would have been fun, but there is a half-empty bottle of hand lotion sitting innocuously in the second drawer of his bedside table. He fishes it out with one hand and squirts some onto his palm, shuddering slightly at how cold it is against the bare, flushed skin of his cock. It feels good. Incredibly good, better than he’s accustomed to feeling, better than the rushed, quiet nights he spends alone in his bedroom with too much energy and no one to focus it on. He imagines the palms rubbing him being bigger than his own, rougher. Less interested in his own pleasure and more interested in making him squirm.

 

God, that man’s _ass._ His face, his chest, his arms, his everything, but especially his ass. The funny thing is that Hiro’s never actually thought of himself as being an ass man; the private files sitting in his laptop (all encrypted, of course) are of soft, jiggling breasts and the occasional washboard abs. Not lightly toned asses, definitely, although at this point Hiro’s starting to re-evaluate his life choices. No wonder the guy’s a stripper. If Hiro looked like that, he’d never go to university again.

 

He digs his thumb into his slit and moans, remembering at the last second to bite his lip and muffle the sound. Everything’s hot. His skin, his blood, almost as if he’s drunk again on some colourful mixture of alcohol that tastes stronger than it looks. It’d be nice to have another drink, actually, although he can’t decide if that’s because he likes the feeling of sleepy, saccharine warmth or because he’s imagining being served by a waiter with no shirt on. He swallows. Actually, if he’s going to be honest, it’d be nice to have anything at all in his mouth. Another person’s tongue, maybe, or a couple of thick fingers, or, maybe one day, something that sits hard and heavy between someone’s legs, something Hiro can swallow and moan around and try to take all at once until he chokes.

 

He’s not actually sure when it is that his left hand has moved from massaging his balls to inching towards his asshole, but he lets it happen. It’s a special day. He’s eighteen, and alone, and there’s no point pretending to have any sense of decorum, not when it feels so good to rotate his wrist _just_ so, not when all he can think about for some reason is that fucking naked waiter.

 

It’s only because he’s finally got someone to fantasize about, he tells himself, pausing for a brief moment to squirt lotion onto his fingers messily. He’s a virgin. It’s not his fault that he’s a little tense after getting sexual attention for the first time in his life. Can anyone realistically blame him for being excited? Clearly not, he argues inwardly, although any further attempt at mental gymnastics falls flat the moment his finger stops circling and actually enters.

 

It’s bizarre. Not bad, but very weird, because Hiro’s only done this once or twice in the shower, just to see what it feels like. He’s certainly never spread his legs and arched his back to slowly take more of his finger in, and he’s never rolled over onto his stomach to rut a little against the sheets and crook his finger in search of a spot he’s only read about in books.

 

Which, as it turns out, is just within reach of his middle finger, although he only just barely manages to file this information for later because _fuck_ , _nobody warned him about this, nobody sat him down and told him that there was a little button inside of him that set his nerves on fire and made him gasp and curl his toes and-_

Stripperman would know, probably. He’d know where to reach, and his fingers would be long enough that he wouldn’t have to stretch so far, and they’d be thick, and two or three of them would maybe almost feel like a dick, something real and hard that Hiro could roll his hips back against, anchored between the mattress and the solid, reassuring presence of another body.

 

An actual dick, though. Hiro remembers the bulge in Stripperman’s pants. How would that feel, having something slowly slide into him, stretching him far enough to make him scream? Would Stripperman know where to aim? Would he be too much? Would Hiro feel it in his spine for the next few days?

 

He whines into the soft surface of his bed and crooks his finger in a come-hither motion, stroking across his most sensitive spots almost brutally, giving himself no time to recover between his own merciless fingering and the rapid _pump pump pump_ of his fist. It’s too much. Too much, too soon, and Hiro has to bite his pillow to keep from crying out when the pressure between his hips _finally_ explodes, bitter white spurting onto his already sweaty sheets.

 

He almost sobs. Abruptly, he ceases his self-directed abuse, releasing his cock to support himself on one hand and both knees. He’s shaking. His head is light and the darkness of his room swirls at the edges of his vision as he catches his breath.

 

Shameful, really, that he’s doing this instead of celebrating with his friends like was the original plan. It feels too nice to pass up, though, the sensation of liquid fire running through his lower half. Panting softly, he rolls over into a regrettably damp patch and stares at the ceiling, chest rising and falling with each breath.

 

He glances at the digital clock on the night stand. It’s two thirty. Earlier than he gets to sleep on some nights. He doesn’t have to be in school for anything special tomorrow, so he can really do what he likes. It’s technically not his birthday anymore, but that’s just a matter of semantics. He can say it’s his birthday for as long as he can stay up. And, knowing himself, he can probably stay up a lot longer than this, especially with the events of the night still fresh in his mind.

 

Taking a deep breath, he reaches back between his legs. This time, he adds a second finger.

 

The last coherent thought he remembers is that he probably should have asked for Stripperman’s name, if only so he could have something to scream into his pillow that night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two weeks of being eighteen haven’t really done much for him.

 

Hiro yawns and flops backwards in his chair. He’s done with this week’s assignment: _design a thirty horsepower engine with the lowest possible weight_. He’s done what he can, and now has a parcel-sized lump of machinery on his desk, which Fred pokes at curiously.

 

The lab’s awfully quiet without Honey Lemon around, but she’s off handling one of the booths for SFIT’s open day. Or giving tours, or something. Hiro doesn’t know. He’s got no real interest in meeting the potential fresh meat, even if it’ll probably liven up the lab a little bit. Most of the hopefuls won’t even make it past Expo Day anyway. No point in trying to get to know people he’s never going to see again.

 

The weather’s nice outside. He could go bother Fred into sitting in the campus gardens with him, since Fred’s got nothing to do, but then Hiro’ll have to walk even further to get to his next Physics class. Which he could skip, actually. No point sitting through an hour of stuff he already knows.

 

“How do you feel about heading home?” asks Hiro.

 

“We could.”

 

“No, you can’t. You still have class.”

 

Hiro turns. “Hey, Honey. You done with your student volunteering stuff?”

 

Honey Lemon steps through the doorway gracefully, two long strides taking her to the middle of the lab. “No, I’m showing some of the new recruits around. Follow me, everyone! This is the lab that all of my practical work is based in. It’s really cool!”

 

A dozen or so potential students shuffle in, wide-eyed and fresh-faced. Hiro grins at them. He remembers being in that position, nervous and hopeful all at once. SFIT students had seemed like a whole different species, back then, something he could only aspire to be. Now that he’s actually here, it’s actually really not big of a deal.

 

They don’t know that, though. “Welcome to nerd school.”

 

Honey laughs. “I want to tell you not to listen to him, but I’ve got nothing. We’re very nice nerds, though!”

 

Zooming across the room in his swivel chair, Hiro stops next to Honey to get a good look at the crowd. “You should know, SFIT only accepts the nerdiest nerds. You need to intensify your nerd if you want to get in. If you’re cool, you need to stop it right now.”

 

“I think I’m pretty cool,” says Fred mildly, adjusting the head of his kaiju suit.

 

“You don’t even go here,” Hiro retorts, tossing an eraser at him. He squints at the kids and then grins. “You need to embrace social awkwardness. Don’t even think about having friends. Break your glasses and then tape them back together.”

 

Not that he’s ever worn glasses, actually, but a fair number of the kids do. Except for the girl with pigtails in front. And the boy in the superman t-shirt, and also that guy in the back, the one sort of crouching against a wall as if he’s trying to slip away unnoticed, the one who tries to pull his cap over his face and look anywhere but there until he accidentally makes eye contact with Hiro and-

 

 

...oh.

 

Well, then.

 

_Well, then._

 

Slowly, deliberately, Hiro’s face splits into a grin. He points a finger at the guy in the back, who’s staring at him with a white face and eyes wide in abject horror. Who also, incidentally, happens to look very different now that he’s not running around in a tiny apron and no shirt.

 

“I think,” says Hiro, “that we’ve met somewhere before.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just go ahead and show myself out
> 
> decide what tadashi wears next and/or hurl abuse at me in the form of a comment, or alternatively at my brand-spankin' new hidashi blog right [here](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why live one life when you can have two? Three? Hell, have nine! Be a cat, I don't give a shit!

 

“You don’t want anyone knowing you went to a strip club, do you?” Stripperman says.

 

“You don’t want anyone knowing you _work_ at a strip club, do you?” Hiro retorts.

 

Stripperman stomps in frustration and accidentally puts his foot in a bucket. A tiny janitor’s closet at the end of the floor isn’t the best place to be having this sort of confrontation, probably, but it’s the best they can do on such short notice. Stripperman had whisked him out of his seat the moment Honey Lemon led the tour group away from the nerd lab, ignoring Fred completely. Now they’re almost nose to nose, door closed in a shoebox of a room with no ventilation and a small family of spiders giving them hostile looks.

 

“Why? What reason could you _possibly have_ to out me?”

 

Coolly, Hiro shrugs. “Maybe I don’t have one. Maybe I’m just a cold, manipulative bastard who plans on blackmailing you into doing my bidding for the rest of your life.”

 

Stripperman’s mouth drops open in a round ‘o’ of horror. Hiro bites back a laugh.

 

“If you want me to keep your secret, you’ll have to do what I say,” he continues, chewing on the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t accidentally smile. “Like, whatever I say. _Anything_.”

 

Stripperman’s scowl would be pretty scary if he didn’t have a daddy longlegs trying to build a web on his hat. “I could end you right here.”

 

“You could, but then you’d be a murderer, which is probably a little bit worse than being a stripper, you know what I’m saying?”

 

“Fine.” Eyes narrowing, Stripperman steps forward so that Hiro has to look even further up. Unfortunately, because the room’s so small, that means Hiro’s backed up against a corner, and Stripperman rather unkindly decides to brace both hands on the wall, caging him. “What do you want from me? Sex? Is that what you want? You want me to get on my knees and blow you right here in this closet, you filthy son of a bitch? Would that keep your mouth shut?”

 

It does, actually, but that’s just because Hiro’s too surprised to respond. He blinks twice, eyes wide, and then glances at the door. “Uh, wow, okay, I didn’t think you’d take me seriously there.”

 

Stripperman blinks back, face going blank. “Were you not being serious?”

 

“…no? I mean, I’m kind of an asshole, yeah, but not _that_ much of an asshole.” Hands up in surrender, Hiro shuffles to the side slightly, hoping Stripperman will take the hint and release him from his trap (which was pretty hot in the strip club, but considerably less so in a closet, being poked in the side with a rogue broom). “I’m not gonna tell anyone, relax.”

 

Stripperman and the spider both frown at him. “Promise?” he asks hesitantly.

 

Hiro nods, hands still up. “Scout’s honour. Please let me go.”

 

He’s released. Stripperman takes a step back, scratching awkwardly at his neck. “…you’re absolutely sure.”

 

“Yeah,” says Hiro, smiling weakly. “I was only kidding. I’m not selling you out.”

 

Stripperman visibly deflates, tension melting out of his shoulders until he looks about 30% smaller. “Oh. I, uhm. Good. Sorry, then.”

 

Hiro pats him a little stiffly on the arm. “I don’t blame you. So, uh, why exactly are you here?”

 

Stripperman looks around. “Well, I mean, this was the first door I noticed-”

 

“Why are you in _SFIT_ , knucklehead.”

 

“Oh.” Stripperman suddenly seems very interested in the cracks in the floor, but Hiro’s in his line of vision, so he shifts his attention to the sublime plaster craftsmanship of the ceiling. “It is open day,” he mumbles.

 

Hiro squints at him. “You’re applying?”

 

“Uh, maybe.”

 

“...how old are you?”

 

Stripperman says something unintelligible and reaches around Hiro for the doorknob. “So, uh, best be going, got the rest of the tour to get to! I’m. Bye!”

 

Hiro’s spun around rather ungracefully into a stack of mops. Stripperman slides around him deftly, slipping out the door before Hiro can so much as say _naked waiter_. He’s already starting to run down the corridor by the time Hiro disentangles himself and stumbles out of the room.

 

Hiro stares at Stripperman’s rapidly retreating figure. The spider on his hat waves goodbye.

 

 

 

Sighing, Hiro turns. Fred stares back at him, fist raised as though he was just about to knock on the door. His expression says that, despite searching, he didn’t actually expect Hiro to be out here. “Hi.”

 

Hiro points at him. “If you make _one_ joke about coming out of the closet, this friendship is void.”

 

Fred lowers his fist. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“Good,” Hiro says, and turns on his heel to stomp off back to the lab.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You won’t be out too late, will you?”

 

Hiro stumbles over the last stair, elbow-deep in the wrong arm of his hoodie. “Aunt Cass! What are you still doing up?”

 

She turns a little so she can peer at him over the edge of her armchair. An artificial-sounding scream of terror comes from the TV - one of those silly slasher movies she likes to watch when there’s no work to be done. The cat pokes its head just under her chin to squint at Hiro with barely-disguised malevolence. Aunt Cass scratches its ears. “I was just about to go to bed. Where’re you headed, sweetie?”

 

Hiro attempts a smile. “Just, you know, going out to get some air.”

 

Holding out her bowl of popcorn for him, Aunt Cass smiles back and ruffles his hair when he comes over to get a handful. “That’s probably a good idea. You have been holed up in that room of yours for a couple of days now.”

 

“I come out sometimes,” he replies around a mouthful of caramel popcorn. “Anyway I’ll be back soon, so don’t stay up for me, Aunt Cass.”

 

“Alright, but don’t stop to play with somebody’s dog and forget to come home, okay?”

 

“That happened, like, one time.”

 

“And go get a thicker jacket, it’s cold outside.”

 

“I’ll be _fine,_ Aunt Cass.”

 

“Okay.” She smiles at him again, warmer this time and with an expression that Hiro can’t quite place. “You’re old enough to take care of yourself, now, huh? I guess I can’t keep calling you ‘little man’ anymore.”

 

Softening, Hiro leans over the arm of the chair to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I don’t mind if you keep calling me that, even if I did outgrow you when I was fifteen.”

 

She pats his face. “Alright, hun. Go on now, don’t let me stop you. Just make sure to come back in one piece, alright?”

 

“I’ll try my best,” says Hiro honestly.

 

He makes a face at Mochi and runs down the rest of the stairs, hopping off the second step and landing on the floor with a thump. He remembers to lock up properly this time. The keys jangle in his pocket as he walks, and his breath mists in front of him even though the weather’s supposed to be getting warmer by now. He walks slowly. Nobody’s going to be there yet, probably, but if Hiro’s there from the start, he can suss out the competition and come up with a battle plan with a little more accuracy.

  
Not that he needs to, really. Nobody’s brought anything new to the table since he’d first built Megabot. Any upgrades he makes now are purely for his own amusement, because it’s not as though anyone’s going to beat him tonight. The match is probably going to be the same as it always is; he’ll lose on purpose, and then the opponent’s going to be suckered into fighting a second round.

 

Where their bot will get destroyed, of course.

 

Actually, come to think of it, it might be a good idea to come up with a new plan of action. He’s timed his matches well enough that he doesn’t appear in the same place more than once a month, but people are starting to recognise Megabot when they see it. Plus, even with the baby face, Hiro’s getting a bit old to pull off the doe-eyed look. There must be another way to hustle.

 

_I could try using raw sex appeal_ , he thinks, and then snorts. Yeah, right. That’s a bit much, even for him.

  


A raindrop lands on the tip of his nose. He pulls his hood on and looks up. The sky’s cloudy, from what he can see in the dark. He’s only just entering the Red Light district, so it’s going to be a bit of a distance from where he is to Fujita’s. He’ll probably be able to reach there before it starts pouring, but he has no real interest in showing up to a bot fight looking like a drowned rat. He’s early, anyway. He might as well take shelter.

 

There are a couple of restaurants open, but it’s eleven o’clock at night and Hiro doesn’t feel like getting ramen. He can hear the casino from the other end of the street, but that’s a bad idea; even though he could theoretically count the cards, he’s not about to try it for real without a couple of test-runs first. The only other places open are a brothel (which Hiro is nowhere near brave enough for) and that strip club he went to on his birthday.

 

There’s almost no line outside, since it’s a weeknight. He grins and jogs over.

 

The lady with the purple hair is at the entrance again. He hands her his ID (confidently, this time) and is waved through the doors without any hassle.

 

The club’s very different without six million people on the dance floor. The loud music and flashing lights make the dozen or so patrons look awfully lonely. There’s no poledancer this time, only a couple of half-dressed men and women wandering around looking for customers. One of them waves at Hiro. Hiro waves back.

 

He heads to the bar, although this time he doesn’t order anything. The bartender is the same guy as the last time. Hiro gives him a wave too, and makes sure not to touch the counter. “I’m looking for someone. He works here; average height, really short hair, probably Japanese?”

 

The bartender nods. “You want private service?”

 

“Uh, yeah, probably.”

 

“Got it.” He waves someone over and says something Hiro can’t hear over the music. The base rattling his heart around in his ribcage is starting to get annoying. Still, he fixes a charming smile on his face as he waits, hands stuffed securely in his pockets so he doesn’t accidentally leave any unwanted fingerprints. The bartender nods at him and goes back to mixing cocktails with mechanical precision.

 

 

 

Hiro’s guessing at the individual densities of the stuff in the drinks when Stripperman suddenly leans over his shoulder. He jumps and turns around like a meerkat.

 

Stripperman’s smile melts into a frown when their eyes meet. “Haru?”

 

_“Hiro._ ” He considers being annoyed, but decides it’s not possible given the circumstances. Looking Stripperman up and down, he only barely manages not to run laughing into the night.  “You look pretty today. I like the ears.”

 

“Thanks,” says Stripperman drily, resting a hand on his hip. He looks good as a playboy bunny, it turns out, although the fishnets are a bit much. Cocking his head so the fuzzy ears on his head sway precariously, he raises a brow. “What are you doing here?”

 

Hiro offers his sweetest smile. “I was bored, so I thought I’d come visit.”

 

Stripperman looks around with exaggerrated significance. “You came to visit. At a strip club. On a weeknight. Should I be worried about you?”

 

“Not at all,” says Hiro, glancing at Stripperman’s shoes, which are improbably tall and very pointy. “How do you walk in those?”

 

“It involves a lot of sashaying,” Stripperman admits, shrugging. “What do you want, kid?”

 

“I’m an _adult_ ,” Hiro says peevishly. “I’ve got,” he says, feeling around for the wad of cash sitting in his left pocket, “about ten dollars to spare. What’ll that get me?”

 

“A cab home.”

 

“Ha ha ha,” says Hiro, tone flatter than Stripperman’s chest looks in that dumb bodice. “I’m not leaving. I’ve got something else to do in half an hour, so help me kill time.”

 

He waves a note invitingly. Stripperman rolls his eyes and takes it.

 

“Fine,” he says, flopping onto a barstool with a sigh. He pats the one next to him, and Hiro sits. “For ten dollars, I’ll keep you company and serve you drinks. You have to pay for the drinks, though.”

 

“I don’t want any drinks. Like I said, I’ve got important stuff to do later. I can’t be drunk.”

 

Stripperman raises an eyebrow. “What could you possibly be doing at night in this part of town?”

 

“So, do you have a name?”

 

“Don’t avoid the question.”

 

“I’m not avoiding the question, I’m under no obligation to tell you,” Hiro retorts. “If you don’t tell me your name, I’m going to have to name you myself, you understand. I’ll call you Wasabi. It’s Japanese, and extra hot,” says Hiro, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Stripperman looks slightly offended. “Please don’t call me that. If you must know, I go by Sunfire.”

 

Hiro snorts. “ _Why_?”

 

“ _Because_ ,” says Stripperman - Sunfire, rather - “my boss thought it would be a good idea, so you can stop laughing at me.”

 

“I’m not laughing at you,” Hiro says, and then giggles.

 

Sunfire rolls his eyes again. “Unbelievable. So if you’re not going to have any alcohol, what do  you want? You can’t just sit there. Water? A soda? Milk?”

 

“For the last time, I’m an _adult_ ,” Hiro says, giving him the stink face. “I don’t want milk.”

 

Sunfire turns to look at the bartender. The bartender nods and pours a glass of milk.

 

Hiro turns the stink face on him. “I’m not drinking that.”

 

“It’s a waste if you don’t, though,” says Sunfire mildly. “Come on, it’s good for your bones. You’ll grow up big and strong.”

 

“I’m already grown.”

 

“You’ve got at least a good few inches left in you, I’m sure.”

 

Hiro makes a face of utter outrage. “Five foot six is a perfectly acceptable height. Anyway, you’re not that much taller than me. You’re only talking shit because you’re in those ridiculous skyscraper heels.”

 

Sunfire covers Hiro’s mouth in dismay. “Who taught you that language?”

 

Hiro gives in to impulse and licks him. Sunfire grimaces and wipes his hand on Hiro’s sleeve.

 

“You’re pretty rude for someone who’s meant to act as a host,” Hiro remarks, swatting the other man away.

 

Sunfire snorts and helps himself to the glass of milk. “If you tipped me, I’d be nicer.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” says Hiro, eyeing Sunfire’s face for a milk moustache, which, sadly, doesn’t happen. “You give me good service, I tip you, you give me even better service. Didn’t anyone teach you basic business sense?”

 

“Yes, but that usually only works on actual customers. I don’t expect much from some guy who came in here just to laugh at me.”

 

Hiro considers this. “I didn’t come here to laugh at you. I mean, I’m not saying I’m _not_ laughing at you, because I am, but that’s because of your outfit, not because I was specifically planning to come here to laugh at you, specifically. That part just sort of happened. Although the heels suit you, you know. They really bring out your vasti lateralis.”

 

Sunfire, for some reason, seems less than amused. “You’re really too kind. Didn’t you have somewhere to be?”

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” Hiro says, taking a sip of milk himself and immediately wrinkling his nose at it. “While you’re in the middle of trying to entertain me. Talk about rude.”

 

“ _Rude_ is making fun of someone’s outfit after they’ve spent half an hour trying to get their stockings to stay in place,” says Sunfire primly. “I think I’m being pretty polite, all things considered. But it’s been almost half an hour, you know. You’re going to be late to your thing.”

 

Hiro slides off the barstool, but makes sure to sigh extra loudly first. “I see how it is. You don’t want me around? Fine, I can take a hint. I’ll go to where people accept me. Where they won’t shun me for my height.”

 

Sunfire’s expression turns curious. “Where are you going, anyway?”

 

“That’s a secret,” says Hiro over his shoulder, sticking both hands into his pockets and sauntering to the exit. “See you around, Wasabi.”

 

“That is _not_ my name,” Sunfire calls after him. Hiro laughs and skips through the door.

 

Megabot’s weight is reassuring when he tugs it out of his pocket to look at it. He’s a little short of what he’d been planning to bet, but not by much. He’ll make twice as he started off with by the end of the night anyway, so it’s really not a big deal. If he plays his cards right, he’ll have enough stashed away to buy himself an entire collection of virtual-reality gaming visors.

 

He puts his battle bot back in his pocket and grins. It’s going to be a good night.

  


 

* * *

 

  


“This is not,” Hiro wheezes, “a good night.”

 

Yama, as it turns out, is a surprisingly fast runner. Hiro wishes he’d known this earlier, because he probably would have benefited from a gym membership. A stitch in his side is threatening to make him keel over, but there’s no way he can stop with three men running after him, one quite literally two and a half times his size.

 

You’d imagine he’d be used to being chased by angry people by now, but nope. His heart is still beating out the rhythm to a nightcore track, and he almost screams when a cat darts across his path. He’s freaking out something awful, and he realises as he skids on a puddle of something dark that Megabot’s probably not enough to take on all of his attackers at once.

 

These people all seem unreasonably angry about losing such a small sum of money. Uh. Well, maybe not _small_ , but at least not anywhere near the thousands. Each. Collectively, Hiro might have hustled quite a bit out of them. Which is probably a shitty thing to do, but it’s really not his fault that they underestimated him, even if he did lose on purpose once or twice to make them let their guards down. That’s hardly reason to chase him down the street with the intention of breaking one or all of his ribs. He likes his kidneys where they are.

 

At least he’s learnt his way around San Fransokyo’s back alleys in the four-odd years that he’s been doing this. Sliding between two dumpters, he darts around the corner of the 24-hour sushi bar and sprints to the end of the street. Now all he has to do is climb onto a trashcan and haul himself over the fence, and he’ll be out of the area and on the way back to safety and the warmth of his bed.

 

Except, something hits him on the ankle, making him stumble and fall flat on his face. He can feel gravel scraping his cheek, but he rolls onto his back and scrambles upright almost immediately. His assailants tower above him, blocking out the light of the street lamp above them. Hiro squeaks. “Yama! Long time no see!”

 

Yama, unsurprisingly, doesn’t return the greeting. It disturbs Hiro somewhat that the guy’s strong enough to grab Hiro by the collar and pick him up like a ragdoll, but he supposes, again, that this is where a gym membership comes in useful. He kicks ineffectually at the ground and tries for a smile. “How’s it going?”

 

Yama grunts. “It’s going great, kid. Once I get my money back, I’m gonna pummel you into the ground.”

 

“That seems like it wouldn’t be great for the environment,” Hiro laughs nervously, eyes darting around for some sort of an exit. “You know, littering, and stuff, plus my guts all over the pavement would attract, like, flies or something, you know? You know.”

 

“Oh, I know,” says Yama, smiling in a way Hiro doesn’t particularly like. “And I’m gonna enjoy it.”

 

Hiro quakes. “That’s not a good idea! I mean, yes, I can totally see where you’re coming from, but think of, uh, think of - him! Think of that guy right over there!”

 

He points. Yama and his lackeys turn.

 

There’s a man standing behind them, eyes wide even despite the baseball capped pulled low over his face. He’s wearing a coat and very high heels (which Yama seems to notice, because he appears to be staring at them quite intently). Hiro recognises him immediately.

 

“Uh,” says Sunfire.

 

“Uh,” says Hiro. “I. That’s. Witness! He’s a witness! You can’t beat me up in front of a witness, or he’ll, uh, tell the police!”

 

“Not if he can’t talk,” says Yama, dropping him.

 

“I won’t,” says Sunfire quickly. “In fact, I didn’t see anything at all. I was just about to go home. Goodbye, now.”

 

Hiro makes a noise of utter betrayal. “How could you? I won all this money for _you_.”

 

Yama looks between them, scowl deepening. “You his boss?”

 

Sunfire raises both hands in surrender. “Who, me? No, of course not. I don’t even know this kid. Never seen him before in my life. Whatever he did, I had nothing to do with.” He backs away slowly as Yama and his men advance.

 

Discreetly reaching for Megabot in his back pocket, Hiro wails. “But, sugarplum, you _said_ you needed the money! You asked me to get it for you, don’t you remember? You told me that we could run away together if we saved up enough!”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sunfire hisses, expression that of abject bewilderment.

 

Hiro catches his eye. _Play along,_ he mouths.

 

Sunfire glances at Yama uncertainly, and then sighs. “Look, why don’t we all sit down and talk about this?” he says, face melting into a pleading smile. He keeps his hands where Yama can see them, stepping forward slowly to look him in the eye. “I’m sure we can work this out,” he says, head tilted invitingly. “We can go somewhere private. Just you and me, maybe a few drinks, and then we can have a nice, long conversation and maybe get to know each other and ahaha _whoops_ who knew stilettos were so sharp, sorryaboutyourfootmister _Hiro run_ -”

 

Hiro runs. He darts around Yama and grabs Sunfire by the wrist, dragging him along with one hand and hurling Megabot behind him with the other. “Destroy!” he bellows. Two sets of voices join Yama’s in howling.

 

 

 

 

They’re halfway across the more respectable part of town before Hiro dares slow down. Yama and his goons are nowhere to be seen. Hiro collapses against the side of a building, panting. Sunfire doubles over, hands on his knees, swearing softly under his breath.

 

Hiro sighs in relief. Sunfire punches him very hard in the arm.

 

Hiro yelps. “Dude, what the fuck? I ran away from them so I _wouldn’t_ get beat up!”

 

Sunfire hits him again. “Yeah? Why in the hell did you bring _me_ into it?”

 

“You’re the one who showed up for no reason!” Hiro snaps. “Ow! _Jesus_ , stop hitting me!”

 

“I showed up there because I _work_ there, knucklehead! What were you doing? Why were those guys after you? Did you steal money from the yakuza, or something?”

 

“I didn’t steal it, I _won_ it,” Hiro huffs. He pats his pockets to make sure that Megabot did manage to get back to him. He tugs it out with a soft noise of triumph, and holds it proudly in front of Sunfire’s face. “Fair and square. See?”

 

Sunfire doesn’t see. He makes this clear by threatening to punch Hiro a third time.

 

“Is that a battle bot? What the hell were you thinking? Bot fighting is illegal!”

 

Hiro steps back to avoid his fist. “No, _betting_ on bot fighting is illegal. Lucrative, though. I haven’t needed an allowance for years.”

 

Sunfire stares at him, slack-jawed. “Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Now I’m going to have the yakuza after me because of your dumb bot fight? Am I going to need to move to Canada?”

 

“Relax, Yama wouldn’t be able to find something if you gave it to him gift-wrapped. You’re safe.”

 

“When you say ‘safe’, do you mean ‘about to get beaten up by three men significantly larger than me’?”

 

“Chill out. I mean, he’s after _me_ , not you, so you can relax. Besides, I bet he couldn’t even see you, with that ugly baseball cap in the way.”

 

Sunfire takes off the hat and hits him with it, which Hiro should have seen coming, really. “I can’t believe I ran halfway across town in high heels because of you. And I left my regular shoes at the club, too. Now I have to walk all the way back to get them, and my moped.”

 

“Oh, yeah, the trams don’t run this late,” Hiro says, scratching at his chin. Luckily for him, it’s not that far of a walk back to his place. He glances at the road ahead of them, and then at Sunfire’s feet. “I know a place we could go.”

 

Sunfire squints at him, suspicion evident. “Where?”

 

Hiro starts walking. “A cafe.”

 

“I don’t know if I trust you.”

 

Hiro shrugs. “Look, it doesn’t matter to me whether you come or not,” he says over his shoulder. “All I’m saying is that it’s not too far away, and there’s a spare couch you could use. The choice is yours.”

 

There’s silence for a good few seconds, and then Hiro hears the sound of Sunfire’s heels, which almost loud enough to drown out the sound of Sunfire’s grumbling. Hiro slows down a little; it must hurt to walk, right now. And it’s technically Hiro’s fault, even if Sunfire did have truly unfortunate timing. He almost feels bad.

 

Almost.

 

“It’s too bad you’re not still wearing the bunny ears. They suited you,” he says, and then laughs.

 

Sunfire punches his arm again. Hiro laughs harder.

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably explain why I'm calling him [Sunfire.](http://lockandkeyblade.tumblr.com/post/113575004068/im-sorry-im-really-dumb-but-what-does) All I have to say is that a girl can dream (thank you, AO3 User [Daine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees) for the helpful explanation).
> 
> If it's of any use, I was listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHw4v6myQUM) while writing the lapdance in the first chapter. Unfortunately I had to shelve all those great outfit suggestions til later in the interest of Sunfire wearing high heels. 
> 
> You know what, all I can think about right now is Tadashi flapping his big ears and flying away. Goodbye, Hiro.
> 
> "I CAN SHOOOW YOU THE WOOOOORLD"  
> "tadashi no"  
> "SHINING SHIIIMERIING SPLEEEENDIIIID"  
> "tadashi pls put us down i dont want to do this"  
> "I CANT HEAR YOUR NEGATIVITY OVER THE WIND IN MY EARS HIRO"
> 
> me: who even needs baymax anymore  
> daine: either way hiro's not taking the bus again
> 
> anyway pls hang out with me at [my blog](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/) bc im v lonely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am legitimately worried about how overweight that cat is.

 

 

Some things you learn from experience. Like how to cross the road when the light’s still red, or how to read a textbook so you pick out all the important info, or how much pasta to cook for one person (no, that’s a lie. Not once has Hiro managed to accurately predict how much pasta will result from what he takes out of the packet). Sneaking in while Aunt Cass is asleep is the same. Granted, it’s not especially _difficult_ , since she could probably sleep through a kaiju attack, but caution is still necessary. Hiro is good at exercising caution. He’s a master. He’s _the_ master.

 

Mochi brushes his ankle. He screams.

 

Sunfire claps a hand over Hiro’s mouth. “Didn’t you say we had to be _quiet_?”

 

Hiro yanks the unwelcome hand away and turns around to glare (squint, really) in the darkness. “It’s not my fault my cat’s little turd, okay? He _scared_ me.”

 

“He’s just a cat,” Sunfire snorts under his breath, kneeling and clucking his tongue. Mochi ambles towards him. “There’s nothing scary about him.”

 

“He’s not a cat, he’s an abomination. He’ll act all nice now, but don’t let him fool you. He’s the worst.”

 

“What’s your name, buddy?” Sunfire coos, scratching the beast under the chin. Mochi purrs and hops onto his lap.

 

“His name’s Nospurratu.”

 

“What, really?”

 

“No,” Hiro admits, shuffling around the furniture to get to the light switch by the stairs. “His name is Mochi, because he’s a big blob.”

 

Mochi meows loudly. Hiro hisses at it to shut up.

 

Hefting the cat in his arms, Sunfire stands. “Are you actually going to give me your couch or is this all an elaborate plan to knock me out and steal my kidneys?”

 

“I don’t need your dumb kidneys, I’ve got my own.” Hiro flips on the lights, making all three of them squint at the sudden light. “Hurry up and come upstairs before you wake my aunt up.”

 

“I’m not the one who screamed at a cat,” Sunfire grumbles, slipping off his shoes. He audibly sighs when his feet touch the cool wooden floorboards. Hiro winces; they look like they’re going to be blistered tomorrow.

 

“Go up the stairs into the hall. There’s a couch there you can use.” Hopping off the lowest stair, Hiro weaves around a table to pick up Sunfire’s shoes, which are more evil-looking (and tacky) up close. “Move, I’m right behind you.”

 

Sunfire pads up the stairs dutifully, and visibly perks up when Hiro points him in the direction of the couch. “Nice place.”

 

“Thanks,” says Hiro, putting the shoes on the floor by the side of the coffee table. Sunfire looks different under the bright lights of the living room. Like this, Hiro can clearly see where his make-up is smudged and caked on. He looks worn-out, although Hiro supposes this is to be expected from someone at four in the morning after a long night of work. “Purple eye shadow doesn’t suit you.”

 

“Thanks for your input, but I don’t dress myself up,” sighs Sunfire. “Anyway it looks different under the stage lights. I probably look like a clown to you, but that’s how it works when people have to see you in the dark.”

 

“I think it’s an interesting aspect of you,” says Hiro truthfully. He looks more human. “By the way, what are you wearing under that coat, aside from the stockings?”

 

Sunfire does not seem amused. “Excuse me?”

 

Hiro puts his hands up in surrender. “Relax, would you? I just don’t know how I’ll explain to my aunt why there’s a man in a playboy bunny costume sleeping on her sofa. If you need clothes, I can lend you some.”

 

“I’m bigger than you, though,” says Sunfire after a beat. He takes off his hat, which seems to have a small spider clinging to it. Hiro feels like he’s seen it before. “I didn’t have time to change before I went outside to see what all the racket was about. I should have stayed indoors.”

 

“If you’d stayed indoors I’d be a gross puddle on the pavement,” says Hiro cheerfully, turning away to bound up the second flight of stairs. “Wait there, I’ll find something.”

 

 _Something_ turns out to be a loose t-shirt and a pair of boxers with the elastic waistband worn out, plus a blanket for good measure. Sunfire’s still morosely petting the cat when Hiro returns, pausing once in a while to morosely look at his feet instead.

 

Hiro lays everything out neatly on Sunfire’s head. “Out of the kindness of my heart, I bequeath these to you.”

 

“How will I ever repay you,” says Sunfire tonelessly, although he doesn’t remove them. “Just so we’re clear, am I going to wake up with any organs missing?”

 

“Not unless you have a habit of misplacing them,” says Hiro. “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door to your left. There are spare towels under the sink, but try not to get glitter all over them.”

 

“You clearly don’t understand how glitter works,” says Sunfire, setting Mochi down with a sigh. “It was a mistake letting me into your house. You’re going to be finding glitter for _years.”_

 

“Foiled by my own kindness,” says Hiro. “I should never do favours again.”

 

“Do me one last favour and go away so I can change.”

 

“It’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before,” Hiro says, but turns away nonetheless. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Top floor. Try not to give my aunt a heart attack when she wakes up.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Sunfire says, voice muffled like he’s in the middle of trying to pull a shirt over his head. “Thanks for lending me your couch.”

 

Hiro pauses. “Thanks for…you know. Back there.”

 

Sunfire’s quiet for a good few seconds. “Don’t steal money from any more yakuza.”

 

“I didn’t steal and they weren’t yakuza,” says Hiro, theatrically flouncing up the stairs. “I invite you into my home and you accuse me of stealing from gangs and wanting to take your internal organs to trade in the black market? Unbelievable, Mr Sunfire. You’re the worst possible kind of person.”

 

“I never said anything about the black market,” Sunfire calls up the stairs, laughing.

 

Hiro ignores him and goes back to his room, grinning right until he flops into bed for the night.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As it turns out, maybe Hiro’s not great at learning from experience after all, because he’s been using the Naruto theme song as an alarm for almost three years now, and it still makes him jump about two feet out of bed. Then again, it’s probably not really his fault, because his iPod-cum-alarm-clock very clearly has a mind of its own. It also seems to want to see him suffer.

 

He falls face-first onto the space between his desk and his bed. His iPod skitters away immediately, screaming that _we are fighting_. Hiro lies very still and wonders why he ever decided to give it wheels.

 

Except, it might be malfunctioning. It’s still dark out, and Hiro has no reason to be up this early. School doesn’t start for another couple of hours, probably. All he can feel is that weird half-adrenaline rush, half-crash that comes from getting no sleep. He can’t even remember what he was doing last night. Nothing on earth can be worth waking up for at this point, nothing is worth sacrificing the sweet salvation of dreams. He heaves himself off the ground and crawls back under the blankets to go back to sleep.

 

The iPod comes back to scream at him from the foot of the bed. Hiro makes a noise like a hibernating bear. “Oh my god, _shut up_. I hate you.” He wonders how hurt Aunt Cass will be if he smashes the fucking thing with a spare hammer. It was a gift from her, but it feels more like a curse.

 

Aunt Cass would be disappointed, though.

 

Wait.

 

Aunt Cass.

 

_Shit._

 

His eyes pop right open. Scrambling out of bed, he hurtles downstairs, stepping on the iPod and probably cracking its screen. The last stair creaks as he thuds on it, but there’s no time to pay attention to that right now. There are more important things to worry about, such as the fact that there’s a strange man sleeping on his couch and his aunt who has a _very delicate disposition_ is going to come out _at any minute_ -

 

He throws himself on the lump of the sofa. It wheezes.

 

Hiro tugs the blanket off Sunfire’s head, hissing at him to wake up. Sunfire mumbles something and tries to roll over. Hiro pulls his ears.

 

“Come on, come on, get up, Aunt Cass is gonna come in here!”

 

“Mmmph?”

 

“My aunt! The one whom I _specifically said should not see you!”_

 

“ _Mmmmph.”_

 

“For the love of god,”Hiro mutters under his breath, scrambling off of Sunfire and trying to pull him upright by the collar of his shirt. Sunfire cracks his eyes open to squint at him but makes no attempt to sit up on his own. Hiro shakes him for good measure. “Get _up_ , damn you, you have to hide.”

 

Sunfire yawns and finally -finally- wobbles to his feet, taking the blanket with him. “Mmm?”

 

“Don’t _mmm_ me, asshole, you need to _move_. Take your weird clothes with you,” Hiro says in a rush, gathering everything off the coffee table and shoving them into Sunfire’s arms. He smacks at the man’s back to get him up the stairs, cursing under his breath. He can already hear Aunt Cass moving around in her room. He’s cutting it real close, here.

 

“Fuck, _shoes_ ,” Hiro says and doubles back to scoop up them up. He runs back to the stairs and stabs at Sunfire with the pointy bits on the heels. “Go.”

 

“Hiro?”

 

He yelps and spins around. “AUNT CASS DON’T FREAK OUT.”

 

She blinks at him from the doorway of her bedroom. “What? Why should I be freaking out?”

 

“No reason,” Hiro laughs nervously, hiding those fucking shoes behind his back. “There’s absolutely nothing weird going on. How was your day?”

 

“I just woke up,” she says, coming into the living room with a yawn. Hiro glances up to make sure Sunfire’s safely upstairs and out of sight. “Did you sleep at all, honey? It’s odd to see you up and about this early.”

 

“Haha, nope, no rest for the busy,” says Hiro, shuffling backwards and discreetly depositing the shoes in a flower pot. His smile is starting to hurt his face. “In fact, I was just about to go to bed. Good luck setting up the cafe today!”

 

Something thumps upstairs. Aunt Cass furrows her eyebrows and looks at the ceiling. “Huh, what was that?”

 

“Mochi!” says Hiro immediately. “That _darned_ cat.”

 

Mochi rubs against his ankles. He grabs it and throws it up the stairs.

 

She shrugs and shuffles over to the couch to neaten up the cushions. “We’re probably gonna have a busy day, so I might not be able to have lunch with you. Can you take care of yourself? Oh, this is a nice cap.”

 

“It’s, uh, new,” says Hiro, lurching forward and taking it out of her hands. “I can take care of myself, don’t worry. If you need any help after school, just tell me.”

 

“Sure thing, sweetie. Go try and get some sleep before class, okay?”

 

“Okay, Aunt Cass,” Hiro says, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later. Goodnight!”

 

He’s still not sure if he actually plans on going to school, but she doesn’t need to know that. Climbing the stairs with a smile that he hopes is totally and completely normal, he waves at his aunt and almost sprints back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

 

 

 

Sunfire’s in his bed. Hiro wishes he could mean that in a sexy way, but he can’t. There’s a literal blanket burrito sprawled across the sheets, snoring improbably loudly and probably slowly suffocating under Mochi’s not inconsiderable weight. The cat takes one look at him and hisses, which Hiro can’t really argue with. He comes closer, and Mochi scampers off.

 

Flopping into bed jostles Sunfire slightly, but if he’s going to lie in Hiro’s bed, then he can make do. Hiro sighs so hard he thinks he can feel a lung collapse. “This is way more than I signed up for. I hope you’re happy, you-” he says, and then groans. “It’s too early for this. Move over.”

 

Sunfire does not move over. Hiro makes the best of a bad situation, and arranges himself so he’s kind of _around_ Sunfire instead of wedged awkwardly between him and the headboard. “I’m hiding a stripper from my aunt,” he grumbles under his breath. “I met him on my eighteenth birthday and he’s in my bed and I’m trying not to spoon him. This could be a romcom, but no. Instead I have to run into you when I’m trying to get away from someone trying to break all my ribs. And you can’t even be _cute_ when you sleep,” Hiro grumbles, trying to push Sunfire away so he can get at the blankets. “You have to take up the whole bed and snore like a rusty chainsaw. You suck.”

 

Sunfire snores in retaliation. Hiro scowls at his back.

 

“Whatever. See if I care about your clogged sinuses,” he says and rolls over to scowl at the headboard instead.

 

“Fix the sinuses,” mumbles Sunfire, suddenly throwing his arm around Hiro’s waist and making him jump. “Mmm. Huggable.”

 

“Rude,” says Hiro under his breath, wriggling around to get comfortable. It’s six in the morning. He’s not dealing with this shit. He’s going to ignore the piece of velcro clinging to his back, and he’s going to go to sleep and maybe consider going to school in a few hours if he doesn’t want to murder someone. Whatever this guy does is not his problem. If Hiro pretends he doesn’t exist, he’ll probably go away.

 

“Marshmallow,” Sunfire says and puts his cold nose into the back of Hiro’s neck.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He wakes up to Sunfire peering down at him with half of his make-up smudged and the other half on Hiro’s pillow.

 

Hiro instinctively delivers a heel-palm strike to the nose. It’s not his fault; he’s a little high strung (with good reason), and a stranger’s face is a generally unsettling thing to wake up to, especially when it’s only a few inches away. Sunfire jerks away with an _oof._ “What the _fuck.”_

 

Hiro squints at him and then rubs his hands over his eyes. “Shit. Sorry. What time is it?”

 

“I don’t know,” says Sunfire, clutching his nose. “How did I get here?”

 

“I brought you,” Hiro yawns, rolling over to locate his phone. It’s just after ten. There’s no way he’s going to school now. “You snore.”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“Yes, you do. You also cling like a barnacle, I think I might have cracked a rib.”

 

“You know, I’m built, but I’m not _that_ strong,” Sunfire says and peels back the blankets to inspect his clothes. “These aren’t mine. Did we-?”

 

Hiro blinks. “Did we what?”

 

“You know.”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“Did we _sleep together.”_

 

“Oh.” Hiro looks between them at the bed and rumpled sheets. “Uh, well, yeah, obviously. I thought we went over this.”

 

“Huh.” Sunfire scratches at the back of his head and yawns, not looking terribly bothered by this information. “Shit, okay. Why can’t I remember anything? Was I drunk?”

 

“No? I mean you were kind of half-asleep, but you came up here on your own, so you weren’t _too_ out of it. You sort of just came in and jumped in bed, come to think of it.” Slipping out of the mess of pillows, Hiro stretches and pads to the dresser. His hair’s in a real state, probably, but Sunfire’s just going to have to deal with that. “Crap, now there’ll be people everywhere. How am I supposed to get you out?”

 

Sunfire says nothing. Hiro looks over his shoulder and frowns. “Some suggestions would be nice, unless you were planning on hiding here forever.”

 

“No, I have work this afternoon,” Sunfire says, peering at Hiro like he’s quietly appraising him. “Could have done worse, I suppose.”

 

Hiro quirks an eyebrow. “The club opens that early?”

 

“No, this is a different job,” says Sunfire, standing up and wincing as his joints creak. “Bathroom?”

 

“To your left.”

 

Hiro flops into his desk chair as Sunfire wanders off. Aunt Cass has never seen Sunfire before, so Hiro doesn’t think it should be very hard to pass him off as a customer. If he waits till she’s too busy to pay attention to the door, he can whisk Sunfire into the cafe without much of a fuss. The problem is the clothes, then. Hiro can lend him a bag to put his less-normal things in, and Sunfire’s already got a coat, which will hide the fact that he’s running around in boxers and a t-shirt. The _shoes_ , though. They’ve probably got different shoe sizes, so it’s not going to be easy to lend him a pair to escape in. Then again, Aunt Cass is pretty open minded. If a man were to come into her cafe in sky-high stripper heels, she wouldn’t say a word. Hell, she’d probably compliment them, and not even ironically.

 

Something wet suddenly wipes itself on the back of Hiro shirt. Hiro squawks and spins around in his chair.

 

Sunfire laughs at him. “Sorry.”

 

Hiro scowls. “Did you just _wipe your face_ on me?”

 

“I didn’t want to get make-up on your towel.”

 

“So you got it on my _clothes?”_

 

“Your clothes could do with a pop of colour,” says Sunfire, tugging at his sleeve as Hiro grimaces at the wetness on his back. “I swear, every time I see you, you’re in the same hoodie. Don’t you own anything else?”

 

“I’m not taking fashion advice from _you_ ,” Hiro swats him away. “Ugh, gross, now I have to change.”

 

“By all means,” says Sunfire smugly, standing back so Hiro can get up and stomp to his cupboard. “I was kidding about the make-up, though. I washed it all off.”

 

“Good, it really didn’t suit you.” Hiro pauses in stripping off his shirt when Sunfire doesn’t respond. “And you’re staring at me why?”

 

Sunfire raises his eyebrows. “Am I not allowed?”

 

“Well, you can’t deny it’s pretty weird,” Hiro says, turning to rifle through his clothes a little self-consciously. “And, I mean, there isn’t really much to look at, you know? I don’t get much time to go to the gym or anything, so there isn’t a whole lot of muscle definition going on-”

 

“I think it suits you,” Sunfire says from right behind him. Hiro very nearly screams.

 

“Oh my god, don’t _do_ that,” Hiro turns and finds himself faced with a collarbone.  He takes a step back and nearly falls into his cupboard. “Shit, don’t _sneak up_ on me, what the hell!”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Sunfire catches him around the waist, tugging him back upright and away from the closet. He doesn’t let go. Hiro clutches his shirt to his chest protectively.

 

“What are you doing,” he says, voice at least an octave higher than he wants it to be.

 

Sunfire wraps both arms around his waist. “You’d think it would be obvious.”

 

“Obviously _weird_ , why are you _hugging_ me, I’m not even wearing a _shirt_ oh my god-”

 

“You’re being awfully skittish.”

 

_“I wonder why.”_

 

“Relax, would you?” Sunfire laughs quietly, running a hand down Hiro’s spine and making him shiver. “What’s the big deal? We’ve already slept together. I mean, I don’t remember any of it, but you can remind me.”

 

Hiro gawks. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding here.”

 

“Hmm?” Sunfire doesn’t really seem to be listening. Instead he seems to be more interested in rubbing his fingers in circles at the base of Hiro’s skull, which, while pleasant, is also incredibly disconcerting. He tugs Hiro’s dirty shirt out of his hands and drops it onto the floor. Hiro feels his stomach drop with it.

 

“No, stop, hold on.” Disentangling himself takes more self-control than is really fair. “You know, we didn’t uh. Do the. The do.”

 

“The what?”

 

“The _sex,_ ” Hiro snaps, and then feels himself colour. “We didn’t have the- we didn't have sex.”

 

“You said we slept together.”

 

“Yeah, I _literally_ meant that we slept together. I brought you up to my room so Aunt Cass wouldn’t find you on the couch. You fell asleep in my bed and I joined you. And, like, we spooned. But that’s it. Nothing over PG-13.”

 

“Oh.” Call him crazy, but Sunfire looks vaguely disappointed. “Not even a little?”

 

“Not at all. Are you gonna let go?”

 

Sunfire frowns at the cupboard. “I guess that would explain why I couldn’t remember doing anything.”

 

“Yup. I didn’t take advantage of you when you were loopy. Seriously, you can let go of me now.”

 

“I could,” says Sunfire, making no attempt to loosen his grip around Hiro’s waist. “Or, I could, you know, not do that. I mean, here I was all happy because I thought I’d scored with a cute dude.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say cute, more like ruggedly handsome-”

 

 _“And,_ ” Sunfire interrupts, tilting Hiro’s chin upwards so he can look him in the eye, “I wouldn’t want to be wrong about having scored with a cute dude. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

 

Hiro swallows. Sunfire was right about having washed off the make-up, at least; he looks like any other young man. Any other disgustingly handsome young man, although Hiro’s not sure if that’s because of his face or because Hiro’s already seen Sunfire almost naked and rolling his hips in a strip club on a Saturday night. His cheekbones annoy Hiro immensely. He doesn’t even know _why_. Sunfire’s just some next door nerd without oil and make-up all over him, but he’s got this smug look on his face that makes Hiro want to smack him as much as he wants to …do something. Although, he’s not entirely sure what. This is already rather more than he was expecting to deal with today.

 

“I might possibly maybe see what you’re getting at,” he mumbles, glancing away. Sunfire’s hand makes its way slowly into Hiro’s back pocket to pinch his ass.

 

“Good,” he says, lowering his face to mouth curiously at the side of Hiro’s neck. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to thank you for letting me stay over, even if it was your fault that I ended up in this part of town.”

 

Hiro tilts his head to give Sunfire better access. “You, uh, really don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

 

Sunfire smiles into his jugular. “Oh, trust me, I _want_ to.”

 

 

 

He shuts the closet door with a sharp snap so he can lean Hiro against it. His hands are large and very warm as they roam around Hiro’s torso and make his breath hitch- he’s ticklish, although for some reason he doesn’t mind so much in this situation. Sunfire’s sticking his tongue in Hiro’s ear, which should be gross but is weirdly sexy, although this may simply be because this is the furthest Hiro’s ever got with another person. Even that one girlfriend he had in tenth grade had never seen him with his shirt off.

 

He pulls back suddenly, leaving Sunfire blinking. “Wait!”

 

“What, what’s wrong?”

 

Hiro grabs Sunfire by the face, accidentally giving him unflattering fishlips. “We haven’t even _kissed_ yet!”

 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Sunfire looks like he might be smiling, but it’s hard to tell with his cheeks smushed like that. “I don’t want to kiss, though. We both have morning breath.”

 

“Wha- you can’t just do stuff like this and not _kiss_ , what’s _wrong_ with you-”

 

“Alright, alright,” Sunfire laughs, threading a hand through Hiro’s hair and tilting his head. “We can kiss. Don’t you dare complain about my breath, though.”

 

Hiro hums in response. It’s been a while since he’s kissed anyone, but he figures he’ll learn on the job. Sunfire was right about the morning breath, but it’s a necessary evil in this case, and it’s actually pretty easy to forget about with Sunfire pressing his leg against Hiro’s crotch. He make a soft, needy noise and wraps both arms around Sunfire’s neck to pull him even closer. Sunfire’s tongue pushes between Hiro’s lips. Hiro is nothing if not an opportunist, so he opens his mouth without protest.

 

“You don’t need these,” says Sunfire sweetly, tugging at the waistband of Hiro’s shorts. “You won’t mind if I make a little room, hmm?”

 

“Be my guest,” Hiro says, releasing Sunfire’s mouth so he can nibble along his neck instead. He’s sure he’s not doing this the way Sunfire did earlier, but he’s trying. If Sunfire’s encouraging little noises are anything to go by, his attempts are not unwelcome.

 

“You _are_ eighteen, right?” It’s not fair to be asking questions now, not with his hands slipping into Hiro’s underwear to rub along his thighs. Hiro’s embarrassingly hard, just from a little bit of kissing. He can’t _help_ it. This is all too much, too unexpected, and he nods in affirmation because he doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth without making noises he’ll regret. Sunfire wraps a hand around his cock and tugs once, and Hiro buries his face in the other man’s shoulder to keep himself quiet.

 

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna hear you from all the way in your room,” Sunfire whispers soothingly into his ear. “Go on. You can make noise if you want to, it’s okay.”

 

His hands are not as kind as his voice. One is raking its nails up and down Hiro’s back, and the other one is pumping him slowly and mercilessly, thumb rotating around the head of his cock and occasionally ghosting over his slit. Hiro shudders and clings to Sunfire’s shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric and probably stretching it. This is _so much better_ than touching himself, it’s so _nice_ to be able to sit back and take what Sunfire gives to him. To not be able to control what happens, to be surprised every time Sunfire drags his nails across a ticklish spot or the base of his spine. He has to clamp his lips tight shut when Sunfire reaches around to his front and starts playing with his nipples, because that’s not _fair_ , that’s fucking _cheating_ and Hiro’s not going to stand for it.

 

He yanks Sunfire’s shirt up and sticks both hands unceremoniously under it. Sunfire’s chest is muscular, very unlike Hiro’s own, although he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s already seen it, already seen how good Sunfire looks with his shirt of and a smile on his face. If Hiro’s very lucky, he might be able to get Sunfire to dance for him again, and this time he’ll be able to _touch_ him, he’ll be able to grind _back_ when Sunfire sits in his lap and pull him down for a kiss and maybe even get him completely naked, this time.

 

Except, his plans are spoiled. By Sunfire himself, no less, because the bastard chooses that very moment to let go of Hiro and pull Hiro’s hands out from under his shirt. Hiro would be miffed at how easy it is for Sunfire to take hold of both of his wrists, if he weren’t so frustrated. His arms are held still above his head. “Now, you’re not supposed to touch me, remember?”

 

“What?” Hiro barely remembers how to speak in a normal voice. “What are you talking about, we’re not even at the club!”

 

“I know,” says Sunfire, grinning. “But be a good boy and don’t move, hmm? Let me take care of you.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” Hiro huffs, although he doesn’t want to, really. He misses having his nipples tweaked, although he doesn’t quite have the guts to admit that outright. Instead he takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself, shutting his eyes as Sunfire presses him against the hard door of the cupboard and trails his finger from Hiro’s navel to his open zipper.

 

He sighs when Sunfire strokes him again. He’s leaking, probably right into his underwear, but fuck it. It’s not anything the washing machine can’t handle, and besides, it’s making Sunfire’s palm feel slick and smooth. Hiro’d tell him to go get the lotion out of his drawer, if he could stand to be left alone for a second. This will do. He bites his lip and strains a little against Sunfire’s grip, although not enough to actually break free. He’s rewarded with movements that aren’t infuriatingly slow, and he bucks his hips without even really meaning to.

 

“You’re awful cute,” Sunfire says to him, planting a kiss on his head. Hiro does his best to scowl.

 

“You talk too much,” he hisses, snapping his hips forward into Sunfire’s fist. “And you move too _little._ Come on, give me what I want.”

 

Sunfire hums appreciatively, rotating his wrist from the base all the way to the tip. “What do you want?”

 

 _“More,”_ Hiro says, throwing his head back against the closet with a thump. Sunfire laughs and tightens his grip.

 

“Well why didn’t you just say so,” he grins, and _moves_.

 

Oh, god. Oh, _god_. This is _nice_ , more than Hiro deserves, probably. It doesn’t take a non-virgin to work out that Sunfire knows just what he’s doing, because Hiro’s hard-pressed to choke back his groan so that nobody comes running upstairs to see what’s wrong. It’s getting a little hard to breathe; his skin is flushed and he’s starting to sweat, and his room feels like it’s on fire even though Hiro knows there’s a window open. Sunfire adjust his grip and starts pumping Hiro faster, harder, not bothering to tease him now that he knows Hiro’s this close to fucking _screaming._

 

He doesn’t, although he does moan loud enough to make Sunfire clamp his mouth over Hiro’s and steal his voice right out of his lungs. His wrists are released and Hiro feels _fireworks_ , toes curling and back arching and fingers tangling themselves in Sunfire’s hair without express order from his brain. Sunfire lets him cling, keeps him upright when Hiro hooks a leg around one of Sunfire’s and almost sends them both sprawling. He makes no complaint when Hiro bites his lower lip, letting him ride out the high until he’s limp and shaking in Sunfire’s arms.

 

He leans Hiro back against the closet, holding on tight as Hiro slides onto the floor. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

 

Hiro knows this. He knows it because he’s got a death-grip on Sunfire’s shoulders, and he would sooner rip those shoulders off than part with them. He takes a deep, rattling breath and puts his face in Sunfire’s neck, allowing his back to be rubbed.

 

“First time, huh?”

 

“Shut up,” says Hiro weakly, half-aware that his pants are still unzipped. “Oh my god. That was. _Fuck,_ okay, that was nice.”

 

Sunfire chuckles. “Thanks.”

 

“Thank _you_ ,” Hiro mumbles, wondering belatedly if it’s weird to thank someone for giving you a handjob. He could always return the favour, he supposes. Drawing away, he paws questioningly at Sunfire’s stomach, right above where the hem of his shirt brushes the waistband of the boxers Hiro lent him. Sunfire takes his hand and kisses his knuckles.

 

“Some other time, maybe,” he says, giving Hiro another hug. Hiro suddenly feels sleepy, which is weird considering he woke up not an hour ago. “Take a nap. You look like you could use it.”

 

Hiro presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Gotta sneak you out. Aunt Cass is in the cafe downstairs, you don’t want her to see you.”

 

“It’s fine if she sees me as long as she doesn’t know who I am, right?” says Sunfire, pulling away and straightening up. He offers Hiro his hand (the clean one, thankfully), and Hiro lets himself be pulled up. “She won’t remember me. I could pretend to be a customer. I could use a coffee, anyway.”

 

“Wait, I’ve got coupons lying around, so you can get a coffee for free,” Hiro says, stretching as Sunfire pads off to the bathroom to wash his hands. “You got a preference?”

 

“Not fussy. Cream and sugar, though,“ Sunfire calls over the noise of running water. Hiro shuffles to his desk and opens a drawer to leaf through the coupons Aunt Cass gave him ages ago to give to his friends. He’s only ever given them to Fred and Honey Lemon, though, and Aunt Cass tends to want to feed them on sight anyway.

 

He flops into bed with a sigh and brandishes a handful of Lucky Cat coupons when Sunfire comes out of the bathroom dripping water on the floor. “Here, pick whichever. I’m too lazy to look through them properly.”

 

“How kind of you,” Sunfire says, taking them out of his hand. Hiro can hear the smile in his voice as he bustles about the room collecting his things. He stops at the foot of the bed and tugs at Hiro’s ankle, wrapping his coat around himself. “Hey. I have to go, I have to get home and then go to work.”

 

Hiro waves a hand dismissively. “Your shoes might be in one of the flowerpots in the living room.”

 

Sunfire pauses. _“Why?”_

 

“That darned cat,” Hiro yawns. “There are some bags under my desk if you want one to keep your bunny outfit in. Don’t break a heel on your way home.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” says Sunfire wrily, resting a knee on the bed so he can lean over and kiss Hiro on the forehead. Hiro catches his face and redirects him for another kiss on the lips. “And stop with the bot fighting, you’re gonna get yourself killed. And me, too, probably.”

 

“Don’t be a baby,” Hiro grumbles, melting onto the sheets and letting his eyes slide half-shut. “You know where to go?” Something crawls onto his finger. He squints at it.

 

“I’ve stubbed my toes on enough tables in this place to be able to make my way to the exit,” says Sunfire, settling his baseball cap on his head. “See you around, Hiro.”

 

“Mmm, wait.” Sitting up with a huff, Hiro shuffles towards Sunfire and pulls him down for another kiss, arms wrapped around his neck.

 

“You’re affectionate,” says Sunfire, obliging him.

 

“I am,” Hiro smiles, stealthily depositing that fucking spider onto Sunfire’s hat where it belongs.

 

Sunfire turns to leave. “Alright, now I’m going. Bye.”

 

“Go on,” says, Hiro, waving him off and throwing himself back into bed. He rolls over and attaches himself to a pillow, wriggling to get into the patch of sunlight coming in from the window. His bedroom door creaks open, and then shuts again with a soft noise. Hiro yawns into the bedsheets and lets himself fall asleep for the third time that morning. There’s a nice wad of cash from the bot fight sitting in his custom safe, and his bones have all turned into mush.

 

He feels fantastic. It’s going to be a good day.

 

  
...right until he wakes up and realises that glitter does, in fact, get absolutely fucking _everywhere._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so begins hiro's habit of forgetting to zip up his pants.
> 
> i had to take a mini-vote to decide what kind of smut would happen in this chapter. I mean, i disregarded the results, but i still had to have the vote. i dedicate this handjob to my friends. 
> 
> me: porn with romance - frottage cheese  
> AnnieMantic: I'M GOING TO SMOTHER YOU IN YOUR SLEEP SO HELP ME GOD
> 
> we also spent a disproportionately long time discussing how tadashi would take his coffee. the final consensus was, 'fuck it, he's a stripper, he doesn't have time for your fancy shit.'
> 
> Since blood doesn't flow in dead bodies, I was hoping that if you died with an erection then you would stay with an erection. unfortunately, as it turns out, this is not true. you'd need some sort of a stimulant, or cockring or something. bummer. 
> 
> if you're wondering about the iPod, it's a reference to [my other fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3242945) because i'm a dork. but _surprise, bitch, bet you thought you'd seen the last of that spider._
> 
>  GAZE UPON THE [FANART](http://rotsloeh.tumblr.com/post/114092098130/i-was-originally-going-to-doodle-tadashi-posing#notes) THAT I HAVE RECEIVED
> 
> "Callaghanz up in there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Someone has ta help."  
> \- Thugdashi, probably


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't spell suffering without U and I.

 

 

“You lost your virginity to a stripper!”

 

“Be _quiet,”_ Hiro hisses, covering Fred’s mouth with both hands. “Jesus, that’s not the kind of thing you yell in a crowded cafeteria!” He huffs and settles back in his chair, ears starting to turn quite a fetching red. “And, no, we didn’t have sex.”

“You just did sexual stuff.”

“There was sexual stuff done _to_ me,” Hiro mumbles, picking at his stimulating cardboard burger. “Don’t go telling anyone, Fred, seriously.”

“My lips are sealed,” Fred says, grinning wide. He steeples both fingers, and leans a little to the left so he’s in Hiro’s personal space. “So how was it?”

It is, Hiro finds, very difficult to stop the corners of his lips curving upwards. “It was. Nice.”

“If you ever marry the guy, I want it to be known that I introduced you.”

Hiro swats at Fred’s arm. “I’m not _marrying_ him, I’ve met him, like, twice. And besides, I don’t even know if he likes me.”

“He gave you a handy, I’m pretty sure that means he likes you at least a little bit.”

“Oh my god.” Hiro puts his face in his hands, shoulders shaking from laughter. “What the hell, Fred, no. I am not marrying him. Can you even imagine what that would be like? Like, if I asked for a lapdance and I just whipped out a ring right in the middle of it?”

“I mean, a diamond’s worth more than a stack of ones so he probably wouldn’t mind either w-”

“Shut _up.”_

 

The cafeteria’s packed, but that’s hardly new. The food in SFIT isn’t great, but a good majority of the students don’t seem to care. Hiro doesn’t blame them. Sometimes you’re busy and you need something to tide you over til you can get your hands on real food, and not everyone is lucky enough to have a professional chef for an aunt. Why Fred subjects himself to this is something Hiro hasn’t managed to figure out, though. It might just be because he likes pretending that he studies here.

“He’s pretty cool,” Hiro says thoughtfully, drawing a smiley face in his ketchup with a limp French fry. “Friendly, I guess? Although I guess you need to know how to be nice to people if you’re gonna work in customer service, if what he does counts as customer service. Oh, but he did say he was working another job on the side.”

Fred helps himself to Hiro’s Pepsi. “Dude, I can barely hold a half-job. Your stripper’s something else. Did he ever tell you what he was doing in SFIT that one time?”

Hiro frowns. “No, actually. I mean, he’s applying, I think, but it never really came up again.”

“No worries, man.” Grinning wide, Fred claps a hand on his shoulder and waggles his eyebrows. “You’ve got plenty of time to get to know him.”

“Get to know who?”

 

Hiro chokes on a pickle slice. “ _Why_ would you sneak up on me like that?”

“I texted you to say I was coming to lunch late!” Honey Lemon protests, patting Hiro on the back while he coughs. Fred laughs at him. Hiro flips him the bird. “Who did you say you were getting to know? Is there someone new in your life?”

“I’m lucky I’m still alive at _all,”_ Hiro wheezes, sliding his tray to Fred because almost choking to death has somehow taken away his appetite. “And we weren’t talking about anyone. Nobody at all.”

“Hiro’s going on a date with Callaghan,” says Fred seriously.

“I’m _not,”_ Hiro punches his arm before Honey Lemon can lecture him about why pursuing a professor might be a bad idea. “Don’t listen to him, Honey Lemon, he’s being a dumbass. There’s nobody new in my life.”

She puts her own tray on the table, gracefully settling herself into the chair opposite Hiro’s and crossing her legs. She’s in a little light blue skirt today even though it’s cold out, not that anyone else is complaining. “Really? That’s a shame, you look so happy lately, I was hoping you’d tell me all the juicy details! You can’t share with Fred and not me, we’re supposed to be _BFFs._ ”

Hiro throws his hands up and Fred laughs harder. “I can’t believe you just invoked the BFF clause, Honey Lemon, that’s playing dirty.”

“You wanted a rulebook and transparency is in the rulebook,” she says sweetly. “Now you _have_ to tell me what’s going on.”

“I could tell her,” says Fred.

“Don’t tell her,” Hiro says. “I mean, I’ll tell you myself. But don’t freak out, okay?”

“I’m all ears,” she says, leaning forward in excitement.

Hiro can’t stop a smile. “Okay, so, I guess there’s this guy? And, uhm, we don’t know each other so well, but we’ve run into each other a couple of times, and, uh, we maybe sort of did some stuff?”

She claps both hands over her mouth, eyes _sparkling._ “What’s his name? Is he cute? How did you meet? What kind of _stuff?”_

“One question at a time,” Hiro says, glancing at Fred for reassurance. Fred, however, is more interested in the rest of Hiro’s burger. “He’s pretty cute, I guess. We met at, uh, the café, and I ran into him on the street after that and we hung out. We kind of kissed? And, uh, his name is,” Hiro says, chewing on his lip, “a secret.”

“That’s a weird name,” snorts Fred. Hiro kicks his ankle.

“It’s just that I don’t know if you already know him, so I don’t want to spoil it yet,” says Hiro quickly, just as Honey Lemon’s face starts to fall. “I didn’t tell Fred his name either. I think he was in one of your tour groups from SFIT’s open day, you know?”

She brightens up immediately. “So I’ve seen him? Oh my god, this is so _exciting!_ You kissed? What was it like? Were there butterflies? Sparks? _Fireworks?”_

“No, no fireworks,” Hiro laughs weakly. “It was more, I don’t know-”

“-orgasmic-“

“Shut _up,_ Fred. But yeah, it was nice. That’s about it. We’re not gonna date or anything.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Hiro says, and then pauses. His insides are doing something odd; he can feel a slight wobble somewhere, possibly from the direction of his spleen. His face feels a little warm, too - might be worth getting looked at. “We don’t know each other so well.”

“You can fix that!” Honey Lemon says, clapping her hands and failing to notice Fred sneaking a handful of fries from her lunch. “If you like each other, that’s all that’s important.”

“I don’t like him that way, though.”

“What? You seemed so happy when you were talking about him! And you’ve been like that all week!”

“Have I? I didn’t notice.”

“Smitten,” says Fred around a mouthful of burger.

Hiro ignores him. “Have I really been acting different?”

“You talk to yourself more in the lab,” Fred points out.

“I always do that!”

“With Taylor Swift lyrics?”

“I _knew_ there was something up with you,” Honey Lemon trills, equal parts smug and excited. “I’m so happy for you, Hiro, all the best!”

“With _what?_ What am I supposed to do?”

“Ask him out, silly!” says Honey Lemon like it’s obvious, finally starting to dig into her food. She takes a delicate bite and makes a face; understandable, really, since it’s probably cold and even less appetizing by now. “You like him, he likes you, now you can take the next step!”

“I don’t know if he likes me. I don’t know if _I_ like _him!”_

“He kissed you, didn’t he? I’d say that means he likes you,” she says, patting his hand. “And who _wouldn’t_ like you? You’re adorable! As for him, does he make you smile when you think about him?”

“Not really.”

“You’re smiling right now,” Fred notes, helping himself to Honey Lemon’s abandoned burger. Hiro thinks there must be a summoning circle and a contract written in blood somewhere in Fred’s basement, because that’s the only way he’s not already the size of a blimp. “And, dude, Taylor Swift. You don’t even really like her.”

“Her songs are catchy,” says Hiro a little defensively.

“It seems to me that you like him,” says Honey Lemon matter-of factly. “The next time you see him, ask for his number. Or tell him he’s cute and you want to take him out to dinner! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could hear me!”

“Don’t be silly, Hiro,” she coos, reaching across the table to pinch his cheek. “He’d be crazy not to say yes! Is that glitter on your face?”

“ _No,”_ Hiro says petulantly, scrubbing at it anyway with his sleeve. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“What _else_ are you gonna do?” Fred says, leaning back in his chair and demolishing the last quarter of his burger in one bite. Honey Lemon hands him a tissue. “Sit around and be sad? _Pining lover_ is not a good look, bro.”

“Oh my god, fine, I’ll think about it,” says Hiro, putting his face in his hands. “You guys are so _embarrassing.”_

“It’s because we love you,” Honey Lemon giggles, patting his hair. “You deserve to be happy! Oh, I’m so _excited,_ I can’t believe you’re finally getting a boyfriend! We have to go on a double date sometime.”

“With who? Weren’t you single?”

“Yes, but Fred can come with me. Right, Fred?”

“Are you hitting on me, Honey Lemon?”

She flaps a hand at him dismissively. “No, but I’ll buy you a sandwich or something. Anyway, Hiro, this is your first time dating, isn’t it?”

Hiro scratches the back of his neck. “Well, sorta. I had a girlfriend for, like, two weeks in middle school. I don’t think that counts, though.”

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Honey Lemon reassures him, clearly not listening. “But try not to be scared! I have faith in you, Hiro, you’ll do fine!”

“ _If_ I decide to go through with it,” Hiro says, smiling despite himself. “Do you – d’you really think he’ll say yes?”

“There’s only one way to find out!” Honey Lemon chirps.

“We’ve got your back, bro,” says Fred.

“Thanks,” Hiro wipes some grease on Fred’s shirt under the pretense of patting him on the shoulder. “I don’t know what I would do without you guys.”

“Die a virgin, probably.”

Hiro considers pointing out that he’s doing just fine fixing that on his own, but decides not to do it with Honey Lemon within earshot. She might be older than him, but he has the distinct feeling that there’s something he needs to protect, there. “Nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know.”

“I know, but you complain about it so often you’d think tha-”

“Time for class,” says Hiro loudly, pointedly not looking at Honey. “Come on, Fred, I have Math.”

“You never go to Math.”

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Hiro says, chair scraping loudly as he stands. “I’m going to be a good student. Perfect attendance record from now on. You have to put my tray away, since you ate my lunch.”

“I hope it works out, muffin,” Honey Lemon says, coming around the table to pull Hiro into a hug. The top of his head bumps against her chin. “We’re rooting for you, even if Fred teases.”

Hiro pats her on the back. “I know. Thank you.”

Fred takes Honey Lemon’s tray as well. “You really gonna ask him out, man?”

Releasing Honey Lemon, Hiro puts his hands in his pockets and ambles off to the door, his friends close behind. Humming, he skips over a crack in the tile and grins.

 

“I guess it’s worth a shot.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I am a catch,” says Hiro pacing up and down and possibly wearing a trench into his hardwood floor. “I’m probably cute, I’m definitely smart, and I have an okay personality. And, he clearly doesn’t _hate_ me or anything, so things should work out fine, right?”

Mochi yawns at him from on top of Hiro’s laptop. It seldom has strong opinions.

Hiro sits heavily in bed. “Yeah, true, but what if he says _no?_ I mean, have you seen him? You’ve seen him. He’s _hot,_ I mean, I know probably you have to be hot if you’re gonna be a stripper but, like, he’s got a nice voice and a nice face and everything. I’ll bet he could get anyone he wanted. Why would he say yes to _me_?”

 _Meow,_ says Mochi, hopping off the desk to rub at Hiro’s ankles. Listening to Hiro’s life problems is generally an easy job; all the cat has to do is respond at appropriate intervals and not go to sleep in an obvious fashion. Hiro reaches down to scratch its ears, and Mochi purrs.

“Well, I guess Honey Lemon’s right,” Hiro muses, frowning at the wallpaper. “We _did_ kiss and he instigated it, so that must mean something, right? I’m worrying for no reason. I mean, after all that’s happened, what’s the harm in going on a date? Nothing. Why wouldn’t he say no? He definitely likes me.”

Mochi hops onto his lap and settles into a loaf. Hiro taps his chin.

“I _guess_ I like him. He seems nice and I…I mean, I wanna kiss him again. And do more of the other stuff. And it would be cool to be dating someone. I’m already eighteen, you know, I’m totally old enough for this. I don’t really care too much about the whole stripping thing, that’s his business. I just think dating would be fun.”

Half-shut green eyes stare back at him. Hiro lifts the fat, furry furnace off his lap and heaves himself to his feet. “Yeah, okay. There’s no sense talking about it if I’m not gonna do it, right? It’s been like three days since I saw him. That’s probably long enough not to look desperate. All I have to do is go in there, get his attention for a while, and then maybe get his phone number. Then I can get to know him better and maybe I can ask him out soon. Sound like a plan?”

Mochi blinks at him. Hiro blinks back and turns on his heel to leave his bedroom.

Aunt Cass isn’t up this time, thankfully. Hiro doesn’t want to try to explain his plans; there are only so many times a guy can wander the streets on a weeknight. He avoids all the creaky steps with ease; second, fourth and fifteenth. Cracking the front door of the restaurant open just a bit so the chimes don’t make a sound, Hiro slips into the street and zips up his hoodie all the way this neck to ward off sudden San Fronsokyo chill.

 

 

Nobody’s out at this time of night. Good; Hiro wouldn’t want to run into somebody he knows on the way to the seedier part of town (like Yama, or worse, Mrs Matsuda). The strip club’s just as loud as it always is, even if there’s no line outside.

“Are you the only bouncer they have?” Hiro asks, handing over his ID. The girl at the door raises an eyebrow, popping her gum.

“I’m the only bouncer they need,” she says, barely glancing at his card. “Why do you keep coming here on weeknights?”

“Busy schedule?”

“Other strip clubs to visit?”

“ _No,”_ Hiro huffs, shouldering the door open. “Wish me luck.”

“With _what?”_

“Life,” Hiro shrugs, voice lost to the thump of the bass.

 

 

He doesn’t have to look for Sunfire this time, because he’s leaning against the counter, chatting with the bartender. He’s dressed up like some sort of sexy ancient Roman today. The look suits him, Hiro thinks.

Taking a deep breath, he runs a hand through his hair in the last-minute hope of making himself more presentable, and begins the impossibly long walk across the dance floor. He’s dressed up a little nicer than usual; jeans and a plaid button down, just because Sunfire’d said he could do with some colour. His hoodie's a familiar warmth on his back, but he knows it must look ratty. He'd look better with it off, even if he does feel naked.

 

 

Clearing his throat, he tries to ignore how much his palms are sweating, and tugs a ten dollar bill out of his pocket. “Glass of milk?”

Sunfire looks mildly surprised to see him. “Hiro? What are you doing here?”

“You’d think you’d have stopped asking that by now,” says Hiro, plopping onto a barstool and smiling at the bartender. He gets a nod in return, and then the man wanders off to wipe down some glasses. “You gonna join me or what?”

“Sure,” Sunfire says with a half-smile, taking the offered bill and settling next to Hiro. He seems a lot happier now that his shoes are flat. “What brings you here?”

“The usual,” says Hiro flippantly, turning to look at the spotlights so he doesn’t have to look Sunfire in the eye. “Taking time out of my exciting life to visit you, and all that.”

“That’s very kind,” says Sunfire drily. “You’re not expecting me to rescue you from any more yakuza, are you?”

“Hey, I rescued _myself,”_ Hiro says, making a face of abject affront. He blinks, and then scratches his cheek. “Ahah. Fun night, though, that.”

“Not really, we both almost died.”

“ _Almost._ We didn’t actually die. I’d chalk that up to a win,” Hiro says. He makes the mistake of turning around, then; Sunfire’s laughing (well, laughing _at_ him), but Hiro’s suddenly reminded of both how attractive the man is and how little he’s wearing. Stomach doing an odd little flop, Hiro fixes a smile on his face and does his best to be charming.

“I still say it was a good night,” he says, spinning the barstool so he can rest an elbow on the counter (which he misses and almost falls off his chair). “We should, like, totally do it again sometime, you know?”

“What, get chased by yakuza in high heels? I don’t think my ankles have recovered-”

“ _No,_ I mean we should hang out again. It was, uh. Nice.”

Sunfire squints at him. “Are you asking for another handjob?”

“What? No. I’m asking for your _phone number._ And, like, maybe a date.”

 

“Oh.” Sunfire’s face does something funny, then; his frown melts into surprise, and then into something Hiro’s not quite sure how to identify. Either way, he feels the back of his neck break into cold sweat.

“Everything okay?”

Sunfire looks like he’s about to talk, but he just sighs. “Look, Hiro, I – maybe you’ve got the wrong idea. We don’t, uh, we don’t usually give out personal information to clients.”

Hiro blinks. “Is this an anonymity thing? Because, I mean, you’ve already been to my house, so I figure we’re probably past that-”

“It’s not that. Well, it is, but not completely.”

“Then what is it?” Hiro asks, even though he's probably not going to like the answer.

Sunfire purses his lips. “Hiro...I know that we got intimate, but that didn’t mean – it didn’t mean that I wanted us to date, or anything. I mean, you’re a nice guy, and I really am grateful you gave me a place to stay for the night, but I’m not looking to build a relationship, you know?”

 

Hiro feels his stomach drop right out of his torso and onto the floor with an unattractive splatter. He can barely hear the music over the steady _thump thump_ of his own heartbeat. Face blank, he keeps his voice carefully steady, a little proud when it doesn't falter. “I wasn’t asking for a relationship. I’m…why would you do that with me if you didn’t like me?”

 

Something in Sunfire’s face softens. “Hiro, I _do_ like you, just not like that. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to – look, I thought that was what you wanted. You came to me twice, I figured that must have meant you wanted…you know?” he says, making a vague hand gesture. “And you let me stay the night, I thought I was just repaying you, you know?”

“With sex?” Hiro asks, voice taut.

 

He’s not sure exactly what his expression must look like, but it makes Sunfire reach out and put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t – okay, I know how that must sound to you. But, Hiro, you understand that I’m a stripper, right? These things don’t mean the same thing for me as they mean for you. This is my work.”

“So that night was just business,” Hiro echoes, voice flat.

"Please don't say it like that, you're making me sound like a bad person," Sunfire runs a hand through his hair in frustration, and then glances at the bartender. "You're sweet, Hiro. And, if the circumstances were different, then maybe I would have said yes, but not this time. Don't take it too hard, okay?"

 

"...yeah. Yeah, okay, don't worry about it," Hiro says. He feels sick. The club’s too crowded. Never mind that there’s nobody in the immediate area but Sunfire and the bartender, but it feels like it did the first night, dozens of people pressed against his chest and making it difficult to breathe. Except, this time Fred isn’t hanging around somewhere to take him home in case things get to be too much. Slowly, Hiro pulls his arm away from under Sunfire’s hand, slipping off the barstool and rocking on his heels.

“Right, okay, my bad,” he laughs shakily. “Guess I read too much into things. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

Sunfire reaches out to him. “Hiro, I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s cool,” says Hiro airily, hands waving uselessly in the air until he stuffs them in his jeans pockets. The skin on his arms prickles from the air-conditioning; suddenly, he desperately wishes he hadn't decided to take the hoodie off. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, huh? Sorry for bothering you, I should let you get back to work now.”

“Here, at least take your money, it wouldn’t feel right for me to keep it,” Sunfire says, offering the bill. It flutters sadly in his hand.

Hiro takes a step back. “Nah, keep it. Parting gift. I’ll, uh, see you around, I guess. You look nice today, by the way.”

“Hiro-”

“Bye,” Hiro says thickly, and heads straight to the door.

 

 

He’s never walked so quickly in his life. He can feel the bouncer watching him, but he makes no acknowledgement of her. Instead he pulls on his jacket, hood yanked far enough to almost hide his eyes, Converse squeaking as he power walks his way back the way he came. There's no rain. It is clammy, though, and just chilly enough to make him deeply uncomfortable if he could forget about the ball of tungsten carbide in his gut. It’s a lot earlier than he’d been planning to go home; some of the late-night restaurants are still open to the public. He’s not sure if he quite feels like being faced with Mochi and a cold bed, but there’s hardly anything else to do. He didn’t bring Megabot, and there aren’t any nearby bot fights featuring anyone worth watching. He's on his own.

He ends up standing outside the police station, for some reason. It’s one of the last few buildings with lights on, and it’s probably warm inside. Hiro’s never really done well with the cold, even though it’s not exactly wintry outside, but it’s not like he can just waltz in and lean on the radiator. He probably looks suspicious as hell, anyway, loitering right outside without any real reason to go in.

He could sit on the steps for a while, maybe, until he feels up to moving again. Aunt Cass won’t see him come in as long as he makes it back before dawn. And tomorrow isn’t too heavy in terms of classes, so he can probably get by without a whole lot of sleep under his belt. He’s done that before, anyway, when something mechanical had commandeered his attention until the wee hours of the morning. He could go home and tinker with Megabot tonight, maybe. Might be therapeutic to work on something that can be easily fixed.

 

The door opens, startling him slightly. He turns with an owlish blink.

A middle-aged police officer with a face like a bloodhound stares back. “You okay, kid?”

Hiro snaps back to reality. “I’m good,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you.”

The officer fixes him with a look, glancing at his hands in his pockets and then his wild mess of hair. Hiro puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m not dangerous. Or homeless, or whatever. I'm just...yeah.”

“Hmm.” The officer shrugs and holds the door open, voice patient even if his eyebrow is raised. “If you’re gonna come in, do it. You’re driving me nuts over here.”

“I don’t…yeah, okay."

He nods and walks away, leaving Hiro to follow, and then plods back to his desk and eases into his chair with a sigh. “You got a place to go to, kid?"

"What?" Hiro tears his attention away from the radiator, which looks tempting. "Oh. Yeah, I do. It's not too far."

"You in trouble?"

"Why would I be in trouble?"

Hiro's given a second to consider what he's just said. "You were hanging outside a station acting like you'd seen a ghost. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Hiro says, smiling just a bit. "I didn't feel like going home right away, that's all."

"You need someone to come get you? Got a phone number I should call?"

"...no," Hiro says, looking away. He coughs, and then scratches the back of his neck. "Thanks. I'm fine. But, uh, can I use your bathroom?”

The officer frowns at him, but Hiro says nothing. Shrugging, the man finally goes back to his computer, and points at the doorway at the end of the room. Hiro breathes a soft sigh of relief. "Go down the corridor, second door on the left. You gotta wait a second for the light to come on. It's automatic, but it's slow.”

“Thanks,” says Hiro a little helplessly, going as ordered. He can feel the old man’s eyes on his back, and the stupidity of the situation hits him hard in the chest. Hurrying into the men’s room, he braces both hands against the sink and stares at his reflection in the mirror when the lights finally flicker on. The mirror is clean but cracked, and there's an overwhelming smell of disinfectant coming from the stalls. Someone has written _for a good time, call-_ just above the sink.

“Good going, Hiro,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. It comes away sparkly.

 

Honey Lemon isn’t going to want to hear this, probably, but he’ll have to tell her eventually. And Fred, too, although he's probably going to act less disappointed about it. Either way, the rule is that they can't keep news from each other, so Hiro will have to spill the beans sooner or later. Maybe once he stops feeling like someone’s filled his ribcage with cement, or at least when he can speak properly around the lump in his throat. His face burns; first with embarrassment, and then humiliation. _Naïve, stupid kid._

Shutting his eyes against his reflection, Hiro sighs bone-deep, and hopes desperately that the policeman leaves him alone for as long as he needs.

 

  

Nobody comes to get him. He spends the next half hour trying to scrub glitter off his hands.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I only write fluff," I say, proceeding immediately to cause Hiro unnecessary pain because yolo. Also, [ sexy ancient Roman](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/6f/80/1b/6f801bc8700b924bd5e66f582e5906eb.jpg) . 
> 
> What's this? [ FANART](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/post/115340647084/hidashihomodachis-did-anyone-ask-for) ? and even _[ MORE ](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/post/115040326654/a-fanart) _ FANART? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS? TIME FOR A CELEBRATION! 
> 
> Me : _babemax heals all_  
>  Caity : jesus  
> Annie : You are the fucking worst.  
> Me : are you satisfied with my care  
> Annie : _NO I AM NOT._ PLEASE DO NOT FUCK THE ROBOT.  
>  Caity : GO AHEAD AND FUCK THE ROBOT  
> Me : im gonna fuck the robot  
> Me : like tadashi i _love technology_  
>  Annie : BAYMAX, RUN  
> Caity : OH MY GOD I DIDNT MEAN BAYMAX. DON T FUCK BAYMAX  
> Me : how much you wanna bet tadashi installed a dildo in that thing. which he might have shown to hiro because brothers are supposed to share, after all  
> Me : 'tadashi this isn't a vibrator this is a fucking particle accelerator what the fuck'  
> Annie : DO NOT FUCK YOUR PERSONAL HEALTHCARE COMPANION  
> Caity : IM CRYING INSIDE. MY SOUL WEEPS  
> Me : SEXUAL HEALTH IS IMPORTANT TOO  
> Annie : NO IT'S FUCKING NOT.  
> Me : NO IT'S FUCKING _HOT_  
>  Caity : ITS A FUCKING BOT  
> Me : THAT'S WHY WE'RE FUCKING THE BOT  
> Annie : DO _NOT_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone deserves a Fred in their lives.

 

“Hiro?”

 

Hiro looks up from his book to where Aunt Cass is hovering by the door. He’s lying upside-down in bed with his head hanging over the edge, trying to wrap his head around the mechanics of String Theory. It’s a nice day outside, from what Hiro can see from his window, but he really doesn’t feel like doing much of anything even if it is a Friday afternoon. Rolling over with a soft huff, he sits up and offers her a smile.

 

“What’s up?”

 

Aunt Cass goes to him and ruffles his hair, expression fond and clearly hiding something behind her back. “Are you alright, sweetie? You haven’t left your room in a while, did something happen?”

 

“Of course not,” Hiro says, patting her hand and discreetly trying to see what she’s got. “I’m just busy, that’s all. Lots of homework.”

 

She doesn’t seem convinced even when he smiles at her quite winningly. “You’re sure, hun? You didn’t even come down to dinner two days ago, and you hardly ate yesterday.”

 

“Sorry, Aunt Cass. I don’t mean to worry you, I just haven’t been too hungry lately. Might be ‘cause I’m sitting on my butt all day,” he says lightly. She smiles.

 

“Well, maybe try to take a walk once in a while, huh?” With a tiny, enthusiastic flourish, she brings her hand out from behind her back, revealing a cookie like she’s doing a magic trick and he’s still six years old. “Brought you this, by the way. Thought it might cheer you up.”

 

“Thanks,” he says, and genuinely _is_ cheered up, a little. It’s soft chocolate; his absolute favourite, and he feels comforted when he bites into it even though he’s not particularly in the mood to eat. She smiles at him fondly, and he smiles back.

 

“Did you need something?” he asks gently, because he knows how easy it is for his aunt to get sidetracked.

 

She claps a hand to her face. “Oh, yes! Someone came to the counter asking for you, but he didn’t tell me his name. Were you expecting anyone?”

 

“No,” Hiro says, chewing contemplatively. “I’ve got like, two friends, Aunt Cass. What did he look like?”

 

Her smile turns mischievous. “He was pretty cute. Tall, and with a nice smile. He was very polite, too. And he seemed to know you, maybe you should go talk to him.”

 

“What did I tell you about trying to set me up with one of your customers?” Hiro sighs, trying to keep his voice light even though his smile slips. He’s got a bad feeling about this, because there’s only one person he can think of right now who sounds like that.

 

There’s only one person he can think of right now, period.

 

Aunt Cass seems so hopeful, though. Finishing his cookie, Hiro dutifully gets out of bed, pausing to try to fix his hair a little when he walks past the mirror. If he’s lucky his hunch will be wrong; it’s just a mistake and he can deal with it quickly, he tells himself. Then he can come back upstairs and continue to not-mope, and maybe reply to Honey Lemon’s texts asking him why he’s been so listless in school.

 

He follows his aunt downstairs, letting her reach up to wipe a smudge of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be fine, Aunt Cass, don’t worry. You can go back to whatever you were doing.”

 

“Alright,” she says, taking the opportunity to pinch his cheek. “I have to get back to the kitchen, we’re really busy today and everyone seems to want donuts. And maybe take a nap when you get the chance, young man, those bags under your eyes aren’t designer.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, kissing her on the cheek. The café’s noisy with clinking cutlery and chatting guests. Hiro goes to the counter as he’s told, looking around for a tall stranger with a nice smile.

 

Unfortunately for him, a ‘Sokyo Ninjas baseball cap turns out to be included in the package. He really should have seen that coming, though, because life is not often fair to Hiro Hamada.

 

“Hi,” says Sunfire, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

 

 

 

Hiro lets out a sigh, glancing from the hat to Sunfire’s face and then to his truly awful cardigan. His stomach’s twisting in on itself and trying to disappear, and Hiro kind of wants to do the same, if he can. “I’m really glad I didn’t take any fashion advice from you,” he says, voice forced even to his ears.

 

“I like to call this style, ‘I’m definitely not a stripper’,” Sunfire says sheepishly, taking off his hat so he can fiddle with it instead. “Are you…are you free? I was hoping maybe we could talk.”

 

Hiro frowns at the floor. “I don’t know if I want to talk,” he says, hating himself for the little flutter of hope in his gut.

 

Sunfire nods. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. But, I mean, I was…not great to you. You seem really nice, I just wanted to try to, I don’t know, work everything out? Make sure there were no hard feelings?”

 

“It’s all water under the bridge,” Hiro smiles uneasily, glancing at the kitchen door to make sure Aunt Cass isn’t watching them. Seeing Sunfire so soon is bringing back memories he’d rather forget about forever, and he _knows_ his face is burning something awful. “There are no hard feelings. You didn’t have to come.”

 

“Yes I did,” says Sunfire seriously. “I came to apologise, and to clear things up a little. If you have time, I’d really like to talk, and then I’ll be on my way.”

 

“I’m honestly surprised you came at all.”

 

“You did give me all those coupons, I might as well use them,” Sunfire shrugs, and then softens. “Just for a little, Hiro?”

 

He feels torn. On the one hand, the prospect of being alone with Sunfire is making him deeply uncomfortable, but on the other, he is apparently still not over this. He _knows_ Sunfire’s not suddenly going to ask him out, but it’s still difficult to convince his stupid sappy side of that.

 

That aside, though, this might offer some sort of closure. And if he doesn’t like where this is going, he’s well within his right to tell Sunfire to get out.

 

Swallowing his unhappiness, Hiro nods, pointing over his shoulder at an empty table in the corner. “We can talk over there,” he says, turning on his heel before Sunfire can notice how red his ears are getting.

 

Sunfire follows him, and Hiro takes a deep breath. _Pull yourself together, Hiro. Digest those butterflies._

 

He sits heavily, and Sunfire takes the seat opposite him. “Okay, go on, I’m listening.”

 

Sunfire takes a deep breath as though he’s rehearsed an entire speech. “Okay. Okay, so, you’re nice. You really are. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

 

 _Except you, clearly._ “Yes?”

 

“Yes. And,” Sunfire says, and then puts his hat on the table and sighs. “Hiro, what exactly were you expecting from me when you asked me out?”

 

Hiro goes scarlet. “What – what do you _mean,_ what was I expecting? What does anyone expect when they ask someone out? I _like_ you, bonehead, don’t make me say it again.”

 

“Right. Right, okay, sorry. Listen. Have you ever…do you remember when I said we don’t give out personal information to clients?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you know why?”

 

“…so you won’t get dick pics?”

 

Sunfire smiles despite himself. “No, Hiro, I can handle the odd dick pic. My job is dangerous. Most of the time it’s fine; people come in to the club, they give you money, they leave. Sometimes they take a liking to you and they ask for you again. But some people forget that you aren’t really coming on to them.”

 

Hiro sinks into his chair, fighting the urge to run out the door and into traffic. “Like…me…”

 

“Yes,” says Sunfire. “Like you. Except, you asked me on a date, which was nice, and you left when I said no. Not everyone’s like that. My colleagues have been followed into the parking lot, stalked, threatened, and…worse. Not everyone is nice, Hiro. When you do what I do, you can’t make it easy for anyone to find you, because that can get you hurt.”

 

“But I’d never hurt you!” Hiro blurts, sitting bolt upright. “I wouldn’t _do_ that, I’m not a bad person.”

 

“How do I know that?”

 

Hiro pauses, and then deflates. “You don’t.”

 

“Exactly.” Sunfire’s staring at him now, with a serious expression that Hiro doesn’t like. “You _seem_ nice, but I met you in a strip club. Maybe it’d be different if you hadn’t known I was a stripper; like, if we’d met here, or on the street or something. But giving you my number and all is…really not a good idea, even if you are cute.”

 

Hiro mumbles something incoherent at being called cute, mouth twisting in a way that is probably very unflattering. “Fine. Fine, okay, it’s not safe. Why’d you stay the night with me, then? If I could have been dangerous?”

 

Sunfire purses his lips. He talks slowly, like he’s thinking hard before he speaks. “It seemed like the best option at the time. It was either that or walk back to the club, alone, in the dark. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve ever run in heels, but it’s not the kind of thing you can keep up for long, yeah? And since you said you were taking me to a café, I figured it would be an area with people around. Better than the red-light district, anyway.”

 

Hiro’s stomach drops. “…right. So I was, uh. Convenient?”

 

“ _No,_ Hiro, I - no. You weren’t _convenient,_ you helped me out in a tight spot. I really am grateful that you let me stay the night. You didn’t have to, but you did, and it was really cool of you.”

 

“And what about – that?”

 

“What?”

 

“The _thing!”_ Hiro hisses. “You know what I’m talking about!”

 

“Alright, I get it,” Sunfire says, hands raised in surrender. “Yeah. That was…a thank you, I guess.”

 

“A thank you,” repeats Hiro flatly.

 

“Well, yeah. Like, I said, you helped me out, you know?”

 

“Right. So you just,” Hiro gestures, voice tense, throat constricting like he’s swallowed a lump of metal. “You figured it would be a good idea to do that and then just, I dunno, walk away without any sort of explanation and leave me to draw my own conclusions. My own _clearly mistaken_ conclusions.”

 

“I thought that was what you _wanted!_ Hiro, please, try to look at this from my angle. I told you before, this is my job. I thought that’s all you wanted from me. I didn’t think it was because…”

 

“Because I might like you?"

 

“Yes,” says Sunfire quietly, gaze trained on the table. Hiro can barely hear him talk over the blood pounding in his ears, but Sunfire scrubs at his own face and groans. “God, I was a _dick,_ I wasn’t thinking, I...I’m sorry, Hiro. I led you on. I messed up.”

 

For a moment, Hiro’s actually terrified he’s going to do something humiliating like _cry,_ but no tears spill, thank the gods. Instead he’s left with the uncomfortable feeling of having something nameless inside him swell, threatening to crack his ribs. “I feel _so stupid,”_ he says under his breath, clamping his eyes shut because seeing Sunfire is making him want to tear his hair out. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

 

“I’m _sorry._ What I did was not okay, it was irresponsible, I _messed up._ I know…I know first times can be important. It wasn’t fair to expect you to think of it the same way I did. When you said you were a virgin, I really should have stopped.”

 

“I told you that after. Anyway it’s not like I didn’t want it,” Hiro mutters after a pause. That’s one thing he’s not furious about, at least. It _was_ consensual, even if it was a really terrible idea.

 

“Yeah, I know, but still.”

 

Hiro says nothing. Sunfire, as he can see from the corner of his eye, makes an aborted hand movement like he wants to reach out and touch him but thinks the better of it halfway. “You’re upset. And you have every right to be. I know this doesn’t fix things, but I really am sorry. I wasn’t fair. I made a mistake.”

 

Hiro’s exhausted, all of a sudden. Running a hand through his hair, he turns to look out the window, eyes following some girl on a skateboard making her way down the street. A _mistake._ That’s what all of this is, really. That’s what _Hiro_ is. A mistake. Nothing to feel bad about, but something that Sunfire probably regrets. That’s fair, really. Hiro regrets getting involved just as much.

 

But his stomach’s _still fluttering._

 

“This doesn’t make it okay,” he says, voice surprisingly quiet. Not completely level, but pretty steady, considering. “I’m still mad at you. You can’t just come in here and say sorry and think it’s okay to _stick your hand down my pants_ and dupe me into thinking I was important.”

 

“I didn’t _dupe_ you, I told you it wasn’t intentional. It’s not my fault you read into…” Trailing off, Sunfire sighs, the flicker of irritation leaving his face. “You’re only eighteen. I should have known you’d think it was serious. I...look, I _like_ you, you’re cute and you seem like a nice guy. I’m flattered but I don’t think we should think of this as a thing.”

 

And that right there is like a stab in the gut. Exhaling, Hiro does his best the keep his face neutral, voice cool. “I see.”

 

Sunfire makes a soft, unhappy noise. “Honestly, it’s for the best.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It just is. I don’t want to be the guy who pulls the, _it’s not you, it’s me,_ thing, but I can tell you from experience that this kind of thing doesn’t work out. I’m sorry, Hiro.”

 

Not that he’s really giving it a _chance,_ but Hiro bites his tongue. As much as the idea makes his stomach clench painfully, he can’t pretend Sunfire owes him anything. Running a hand through his hair, he does his best to quash the hot, angry, balloon of humiliation in his gut and wills the redness to fade from his cheeks. “What did you even come here for, then?”

 

Sunfire gestures helplessly. “I don’t know, it seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t want you to be upset.

 

“It’s a little bit late for that,” Hiro scoffs, folding his arms.

 

“…I guess it is, huh.”

 

“ _No kidding.”_

Sunfire, despite being a grown man, makes a noise like a kicked puppy and puts his face in his hands. Hiro, despite being furious, wants to laugh.

 

And, for reasons that he can’t even begin to comprehend, even past the bubble of something ugly that he doesn’t know what to with, even after all the miscommunication and embarrassment, Hiro _still wants to come around the table and give the bastard a hug._

 

“Are you really applying to SFIT?” he asks suddenly, making Sunfire blink at the abrupt change in topic. Hiro’s not even sure why he asked, really; he feels wrung out, but he’s just remembered seeing Sunfire at open day, and it’s more pleasant to feel curious than to feel like jumping out the first floor window. “I mean, I’m not trying to pressure you into giving me info. I’m just wondering. If you’re going to SFIT, then you must like technology. I like technology,” he says lamely, and then trails off. “Sorry, never mind. Don’t answer.”

 

Sunfire gives him a long look, and then huffs through his nose. “You’re the first person I’ve met who meets a stripper and asks about his _hobbies.”_

 

“I just really like robots,” Hiro mumbles, putting his hands in his pockets. “Don’t laugh at me.”

 

“I’m not laughing at you-”

 

_“-liar-“_

 

“I’m not! I like robots too, you know?”

 

Hiro brightens up, but only a little. “Yeah? What kind?”

 

Sunfire shrugs. “Don’t really have a favourite, but I think autonomous robots are really cool. And, uhm, medical robots, and the ones that look like they have arms? Those are great.”

 

“I like the ones you can control, personally.”

 

“Right,” says Sunfire, mouth quirking up at the corner. “Like battle bots.”

 

“ _Yes,_ like battle bots,” Hiro huffs. “But that’s not all I can do, you know, I built, like, a whole army of microbots for the showcase in my first year. They were pretty cool, and I’m willing to bet nobody’s gonna top them this year, not even you.”

 

Sunfire’s expression flickers, so briefly that Hiro wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been pathetically hyper-attentive. “Oh, no, I’m not applying.”

“Why not? You went to open day.”

 

“School’s expensive, man. I’m working two jobs, I’m not rolling in cash.”

 

“Oh.” Blinking, Hiro deflates a bit, worrying for a moment that he’s gone and put his foot in his mouth. Sunfire smiles at him, though, not seeming terribly offended.

  
“It’s fine. I’m not doing the whole stripping thing for kicks. You do what you have to to make ends meet.” Shrugging, he scratches the back of his neck and glances at the door. “Listen, I should go. I mean, I only came here to apologise, so, like. Don’t mean to impose or anything.”

 

“You’re not imposing,” Hiro blurts, mentally kicking himself immediately after. _Desperate._

 

Sunfire offers him a thin smile and stands. “Thanks, but I’ve got that other job to get to. I’ll see you around, maybe. Or, you know, not. I wouldn’t blame you. Sorry again.”

 

“Sure,” Hiro murmurs, dropping his gaze. Sunfire gives him a tiny wave and makes his way to the door, almost bumping into Mrs. Matsuda’s table on the way. Hiro pulls his hood right up over his face and leaves it there.

 

 

 

He’s not entirely sure how long he stays like that, but the lunch crowd’s started to dissipate by the time Aunt Cass pats him on the shoulder. “You alive in there?”

 

“Hiro’s not here right now, call back later.”

 

She kisses the top of his head, and he feels the sentiment even through the 60% cotton. “Well, when Hiro gets back, ask him if everything’s okay. Seriously, sweetie, I think people are starting to wonder if I keep dead bodies here.”

 

He sighs and uncovers his face. “Sorry.”

 

“Oh, hush, there’s nothing to be sorry for. But you know you can talk to me about anything, right, honey?”

 

“Yes,” he says dutifully, even if he has zero interest in explaining to his aunt that he has a misplaced crush on a stripper. “Thanks, Aunt Cass. I’m gonna go upstairs, unless you need anything?”

 

“No, I’m good. Cheer up, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s time for dinner.”

 

 

Trudging upstairs takes a little more effort that Hiro’s interested in spending, but his moping is probably driving patrons away even if his aunt is too nice to say so. Kicking the door shut, he flops face-first into bed. There’s a new text message from Fred asking if he’s alright, and Hiro sighs. He must look really pathetic if even _Fred’s_ worried about him.

 

Fred picks up on the third ring. “ _Bro. Answer your phone. Honey Lemon’s been ringing me all afternoon asking about you.”_

 

Hiro rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Shoulda known you wouldn’t have called on your own. I’ll get back to her in a bit. I’m fine.”

 

There’s rustling on the other end, like Fred’s in the middle of flipping through a book. _“You sure, man? You kinda looked like shit in school today, no offense.”_

 

“None taken,” Hiro snorts. “It’s just, ah. Things didn’t work out so well with me and the, you know.”

 

_“The guy?”_

 

“Yeah, him. Got turned down.”

 

 _“Yikes.”_ Fred, surprisingly, sounds genuinely sympathetic. _“Even after the handjob?”_

 

“Even after the handjob. He said it wasn’t anything personal and he wasn’t interested in a relationship,” says Hiro, not trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I mean, yeah, okay, I get it, people do that sort of stuff without any meaning behind it, but like, _still._ I feel like an idiot, I can’t believe I read so much into it and he wasn’t even _interested.”_

 

_“Wait, wait, I don’t get it. What was the handy for, then?”_

 

“Oh my god, don’t say it like that, it’s embarrassing,” Hiro whines, rolling over and putting his face in a pillow. “I dunno. He said it was a thank you for letting him stay over that night.”

 

_“Most people give each other fruit baskets when they wanna say thanks.”_

 

Hiro laughs despite himself. “He said he figured that’s what I wanted. Since, I mean, he’s kind of the only stripper I ask for,” he says under his breath.

 

Fred hears him anyway. _“I guess I can’t blame him. He must be used to people wanting to get jiggy. You asking him out must have come out of left field for him.”_

 

Hiro opens his mouth to argue, but the words fizzle out before he can say them. “I didn’t think of that,” he says quietly.

 

Fred hums. “ _It’s not a bad thing. Shit, we’re college students. You think someone’s hot, you like them, you ask them out on a date. But, like, if you do exotic dancing for a living, people wanna take your clothes off, big whoop. Someone asks you on a date, that’s probably new, right? It’s not really in the job description.”_

 

“Still,” Hiro mutters, fiddling with a loose thread on his pillowcase. “You can’t just give a guy a, y’know, without warning him it was business-only first. I feel like things would have been a lot easier if he’d been clear about it.”

 

“ _True that. It probably didn’t even occur to him, though. Hell, it’s not like we really thought about the repercussions either.”_

 

“I still feel like shit.”

 

_“Sorry, man. This whole thing isn’t really fair on you.”_

 

Hiro sighs heavily and rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling, since the pillow’s starting to suffocate him. “I feel seriously dumb now. What kind of idiot just _assumes_ like that? It’s his _job_ to flirt with me, he said as much. Like, yeah, he came over and apologized, but that’s probably just because he felt sorry for me. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. How do I even know he was being genuine? Maybe he has to be charming for his job, I don’t know-”

 

“ _Wait. Wait, he came over where to apologize?”_

 

Hiro pauses. “To the Lucky Cat. Shit, yeah, I didn’t tell you. He just stopped by, and we sat down for a bit and he said he was sorry, he couldn’t give me any personalinfo because it wasn’t safe, which, yeah, I get that. Then he said dating wouldn’t work out, and that if the circumstances were different he might have said yes, and he shouldn’t have done it since it was my first time, and then he left.”

 

 _“Huh.”_ Fred’s quiet for a while, like he’s thinking very hard about something. _“Well. Anyway, there’s not much you can do about it now.”_

 

“I guess,” says Hiro unhappily. “I realistically can’t blame him, but I’m still mad at him, but I _still_ want to kiss his stupid face, you know?”

 

“ _You got it bad, huh?”_

 

“I do,” Hiro says sullenly. “I don’t even really know why I’m upset anymore. Is it because I got turned down? Is it because I like him and I want to date him? Do I feel guilty for putting him on the spot? Am I embarrassed because I made a fool of myself? We’ll never know.”

 

_“It sounds like all of the above.”_

 

“Wow, thanks, Fred.”

 

“ _Don’t thank me yet, little dude. You could use some distracting. If you have time this weekend, come over to my place, we can play Halo and eat ice cream. And I’ve got a friend named Mary Jane who’d like to meet you.”_

 

Hiro can practically hear him waggling his eyebrows on the other end of the line, and he rolls his eyes again. “Don’t involve me in your illegal shit.”

 

_“That’s rich coming from San Fransokyo’s top illegal bot fighter.”_

 

He huffs a laugh in response. “Fine, fine. If you don’t get any gummy bears I’m walking out, though. And gummy worms don’t cut it, we clear?”

 

_“Crystal.”_

 

“That’s a drug I’m _not_ interested in,” Hiro sighs, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. “Tell you what, I’ll see you tonight? I’ve been lying around all day, I think Aunt Cass thinks I’m wilting into nothing. I should go outside. See some sunlight. After dinner, though.”

 

“ _That’s moonlight.”_

 

“The moon reflects the sun, it’s all semantics,” Hiro says flippantly. “I’ll come over around ten.”

 

“ _Sure thing. Remember to call Honey Lemon.”_

 

“I will.” Chewing his lip, Hiro sits up in bed and sighs. “Thanks, Fred.”

 

“ _Don’t worry about it, man.”_

 

He hangs up. Hiro stares at the phone, and then opens up the four text messages he has yet to reply. Honey Lemon’s bound to be encouraging and sweet, but Hiro can’t very well tell her the truth now. He’s going to need to come up with a convincing lie if he wants to be able to tell her what happened.

 

Grumbling under his breath, Hiro curls up under the covers and prepares for another few hours of wallowing and self-pity until Aunt Cass inevitably comes back upstairs and he has to knock it off.

 

…he _does_ feel a little better when he finds out she’d snuck another cookie onto his desk from earlier, though.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Exactly one week later, Hiro’s hiding in an empty crate, and it occurs to him that he probably should have sat this match out.

 

Yama’s not very happy. Well, technically, he might be, in general. Even despite their history, Hiro has no doubt that Yama usually dons the Santa suit at the company Christmas party. Hell, he might even be a pretty relaxed guy. Maybe he does yoga in his spare time. The point is that right now, in this situation, Yama is not very happy, and Hiro, specifically, is the cause of it.

 

Which shouldn’t come as a surprise by now, except that he’s actually backed into a corner this time. He’s in a crate that might have housed either coffee or fish, and there’s nowhere to run if Yama finds him in here. And he might, because Hiro’s heart is about to leap out of his mouth and go running down the street without him.

 

Muffled voices float down the alley, and Hiro shrinks further in on himself. They can’t be more than a few feet away. This is a dead end, though, so Hiro has no real chance of escape but waiting for them to leave and then scrambling over the wall in front of him.

 

Megabot and a wad of cash weigh heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. At this point he’s seriously considering just leaving the money and running, but he’s pissed off Yama enough times that that might not actually help. He’ll get beaten up even if he does hand it over. Might as well keep it if he’s going to die either way.

 

He peeks through a gap between the slats. Two silhouettes are looking into the alley, but they move away after a couple of minutes without doing a thorough check. Hiro takes a shaky breath and eases the top of his crate open. Gingerly clambering out, he darts around bags of trash and hoists himself onto a dumpster, swinging one leg over the wall and tipping himself over.

 

He lands on the asphalt, and it _hurts._ He doesn’t give himself time to recover, though; someone’s heard his muffled yelp, and there are footsteps thudding towards him. Swearing, he scrambles to his feet and takes off at a run, no real direction in mind. Doesn’t matter where he goes, he just needs to be _away from here._

 

Ramen shop, tattoo parlour, bar; all open, but not places he can hide. If a guy the size of a small mountain came in looking for a weedy kid, Hiro would give up the kid. Leaping over a divider in the sidewalk, Hiro chances a glance over his shoulder; they’re not close enough to see him yet, but they can probably hear where he’s headed.

 

He bends to scoop up a discarded tin can and throws it in some other direction. Probably won’t work so well as a distraction, but it’s worth a shot until Hiro can either find a way home or find a place to hide. They’re close, but if he keeps up this speed, he’ll make it to the cafe in about fifteen minutes.

 

But he can’t sprint for fifteen minutes.

 

And he sure as _hell_ isn’t risking leading them straight to Aunt Cass.

 

“Fuck,” he wheezes, taking a left at the fork instead of the right that’ll lead him home. This is heading back into the red light district, but Hiro knows where he’s going; it’s not where he _wants_ to be going, but he doesn’t really have a choice.

 

 

 

He follows the noise of fast, thumping bass. There’s a line outside but Hiro worms his way between a few people, hiding behind a group of sweaty, drunk men who fortunately don’t pay him much attention. The queue inches forward and Hiro glances around anxiously; a man who looks like he could be friends with Yama stops at the end of the street, and Hiro shrinks further into the shadows.

 

He’s at the doors. The bouncer, expression flat as always, raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow as he hastily waves his ID at her. “Haven’t seen you in a while, kid. Got some healthier hobbies?”

 

“Not really,” Hiro laughs nervously. “Just been a little busy, that’s all.”

 

She squints at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Ahahaha! Goodbye, now, you have a nice night!” he grins, and sidles past her into the entrance.

 

It’s crowded and some drunk girl immediately wraps her arms around his waist, but Hiro gently shrugs her off and hurries deeper into the club. There’s no way they’ll find him in here, not with this many people around, but it’s safer to stay inside until the heat dies down.

 

He checks his cell phone. It’s only 1 am. He’s going to be here for a while.

 

He sighs. Might as well make himself comfortable, and also try not to look too conspicuous. Squeezing through the throngs, Hiro heads to the bar, glancing around for anyone who might recognize him (and he’s not just thinking of Yama and his goons). The same guy’s there as usual, and Hiro makes a vague gesture at some colourful pink thing the lady next to him is drinking, breathing finally starting to slow even if sweat is prickling through the back of his shirt.

 

The bartender nods at him and Hiro takes a seat, face in his hands and elbows on the counter even though he knows the barkeep’s probably giving him the stinkeye for it. The adrenaline’s wearing off but he’s still jittery. With his luck, Yama will pop over his shoulder before he gets to finish his drink.

 

 

He doesn’t. Sunfire, however, does.

 

…Hiro’s not actually sure if this is an improvement, if he’s going to be honest with himself.

 

 

On the plus side, Sunfire doesn’t look too comfortable seeing him either, face a curious mix of _cautious_ and _surprised._ He glances from Hiro to the bartender, and Hiro follows his gaze; the bartender shrugs and hands Hiro his cocktail. “What? He always wants to see you, so I called you.”

 

“I didn’t ask for him,” Hiro mutters, occupying himself with his alcohol so he doesn’t have to look at Sunfire. Sunfire clears his throat.

 

“Did you…did you come to visit me again?”

 

 _“No_ ,” Hiro says quickly, almost choking on his drink. _“_ No, I’m not stalking you, I just – this was the only place I could go. I need to lay low for a while.”

 

Sunfire frowns. “From what?”

 

“You’ve met them,” Hiro says sullenly. “It’s the same guy.”

 

A beat. Understanding suddenly dawns, and Sunfire actually pinches the bridge of his nose. “No way. You went bot fighting again, didn’t you? The yakuza are after you!”

 

“They are _not,”_ Hiro huffs. “Stop being so dramatic, it’s just Yama. But, uhm. I might have let them a little too close this time, so I’m gonna need to hang around for a little bit. But don’t think you have to entertain me!” he says in a rush. “I’ll, uh, sit around here, go do your job.”

 

One hand on his hip, Sunfire purses his lip and glances at the door. “Did they come in?”

 

“I hope not.”

 

“Okay. Wait here, I’m gonna go make sure they stay out.”

 

Hiro blinks. “You know, even if you _are_ dressed like a cop today I don’t think they’re gonna fall for it--”

 

“I’ll tell the _bouncer,_ knucklehead,” Sunfire snorts. “Shit, one of these days you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

 

“Listen, you really don’t have to--”

 

“I do,” Sunfire says, voice straining over the music. “I’m not letting anyone come in here and make trouble. Are you hurt?”

 

“Skinned my knees, I think, but I’ll live,” says Hiro weakly. He probably shouldn’t have led Yama to a public place where someone could get caught in the crossfire, but it was either that or go home missing a few ribs. At least the bouncer looks like she’d rip Yama a new one if he tried to muscle his way in.

 

Sunfire nods grimly and strides off to the entrance, the dark blue of his outfit quickly getting lost in the crowd. Hiro sighs and shrinks into his chair, swirling his cocktail in his glass morosely. He’s pretty sure it’s the same one he had the first time he came here, but he still for the life of him can’t remember what it’s called.

 

Last week comes flooding back to him in great detail, and for a second he curses his parents for his good memory. _I made a mistake,_ he’d said, and Hiro’s face burns at the thought. Sunfire probably thinks he’s some creepy kid with an obsession, and Hiro’s still angry at him, and he also kind of wants to sink into the furniture and never return. Maybe he should go outside and say hello to Yama after all. He can handle a bit of physical pain. Emotional, maybe not so much.

 

Something small makes a _clink_ when it’s set in front of him. Hiro squints at the shotglass, and then looks up at the bartender questioningly.

 

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

 

Whatever it is, it’s clear and smells toxic. Hiro gingerly takes a sip and it _burns._ Coughing, he makes a face and holds it away from his face, eyes beginning to water as the barkeep laughs at him. “God, what _is_ this?”

 

“Strong,” he shrugs, and turns away to serve another customer. “Honestly, kid, you look like you could use it.”

 

 

 

Hiro laughs hollowly, and downs the glass in one go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was not worth the wait. 
> 
> for the uninitiated, mary jane s slang for marijuana. also, updates, while normally sporadic at the best of times, may become even more so because i have exams to fail. On the plus side, in the middle of the carnage, [ the real tragedy is revealed](http://tinypic.com/usermedia.php?uo=nvlS1L5AwLPOEgM2nUxYkoh4l5k2TGxc#.VUqcmyFVhBc).
> 
> so i really like coffee, right, except recently i've been having a really strong reaction to it. like, still-kind-of-asleep-but-heart-really-pumping-is-this-how-i-die kind of a reaction. so my friend goes, why don't you try decaf? and i got rEALLY EXCITED BECAUSE SHIT, YES, COFFEE WITHOUT THE CAFFEINE, THEY DONT HAVE THIS WHERE I COME FROM AND ALL IS GOOD IN THE WORLD
> 
> i drank it today
> 
> it made me need to poop.
> 
> anyway! whenever i'm feeling down i like to imagine hiro never picking up tadashi's coffee habit, but really appreciating a can of red bull. and you can always tell when hiro's got caffeine in his system, because he just starts vIBRATING ACROSS THE ROOM
> 
> 'noofcourseihaventdrunkanythingweirdlatelybigbrotherwhyeverwouldyousaythatdidyouknowthatthemitochondirawasthepowerhouseofthecell? ididntbutitreallyisfascinatingandyouknowyoureyebrowsaresuperbtodaytadashinicejob.'
> 
> 'hiro please go to bed'
> 
>  
> 
> the sunfire tadashi theory really amuses me. tadashi cries. the tears sizzle. he tries to kiss hiro. it burns. they cannot touch until hiro creates the ultimate sunblock. it is tragic. 
> 
> (if you, like many others, feel the need to tell me to stop shitposting and go to bed, you may do so [here](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/).)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if this fic started off as a silly lighthearted thing about a boy with a crush on a stripper, but then slowly morphed into a dystopian apocalyptic AU in which everyone dies?

 

“I’m taking you home.”

 

“A week ago you rejected me, now you’re taking me home? You’re giving me some really mixed signals here, man.”

 

“I am taking you to _your_ home, numbskull.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes!”

 

“ _No!_ I have legs! I can use them just fine!”

 

“It is _four in the morning,_ and there are _thugs_ after you. You can’t go alone, it’s dangerous.”

 

“I _can_! I’m not a delicate maiden, I can take care of myself! I’ve been taking care of myself for years! Except for Aunt Cass, she takes care of me. She feeds me. I like her.”

 

Sunfire pauses. “Are you _drunk?”_

 

Hiro considers this. “No, I’m Hiro.”

 

“Unbelievable.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, Sunfire takes a very deep breath and appears to be counting to ten. They’re in the backstage area of the club, which looks bigger than it is in the silence. All of the other dancers have gone home, and security is locking the place up for the night. “Your _life_ was in danger and you decided to help yourself to a- no, you know what, I’m not gonna be mad about that. It’s too late, it’s done, now we have to fix it.”

 

“It’s not your problem to fix,” Hiro mumbles sullenly.

 

“ _Hiro._ I’m not letting you wander around drunk by yourself when it’s dark out and you’re in trouble. Now come on, my moped’s parked outside.”

 

Sunfire grabs his wrist and tugs him along. Hiro flaps his other arm ineffectually.

 

“He’s kidnapping me, help!”

 

“Keep your voice down, knucklehead. And it’s not kidnapping if I’m taking you to your _own_ home.”

 

“How do I know that’s where you’re taking me?”

 

“Where _else_ would I be taking you?”

 

“I don’t know! Maybe you’re gonna sell me onto the black market! Honey Lemon says I’m cute enough to eat, do you think I want that to actually happen?”

 

Sunfire stares at him. “What are you _talking_ about?”

 

“I don’t know!” Hiro says, and sits on the floor.

 

 

Sunfire sighs. It’s a very long sigh, which seems to indicate an impressive lung capacity, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s got one hand on his hip, the other placed over his face like his head hurts. Hiro watches sullenly as Sunfire gives him a long look, and then gets to his knees next to him. “Hiro,” he says imploringly. His voice is surprisingly patient.

 

Hiro wrinkles his nose at him and hugs his knees. Sunfire sighs again.

 

“Look, I know you don’t like me much, and that’s fine. But don’t you want to go home?”

 

“Yeah,” Hiro mutters.

 

“And do you wanna remind me why you came here?”

 

“Yama?”

 

“Do you want Yama to find you?”

 

“No.”

 

“So wouldn’t it make more sense to get home quickly, so he can’t catch up with you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And a moped would be helpful for that, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you know who has a moped?”

 

“You?”

 

“Exactly. And who’s offering you a ride home right now?”

 

“You…?”

 

“So wouldn’t be a good idea to accept that offer?”

 

“…I guess…”

 

“So are you gonna come with me?”

 

“ _No,”_ Hiro says, pushing weakly at his shoulder. “I don’t _get_ you. Why are you doing this? I said I could get home on my own.”

 

“Hiro, you could get hurt-”

 

“Why do you _care?”_ Hiro gestures uselessly, talking mainly to his knees. “I mean – you’re not _responsible_ for me or whatever, right? I got myself into this mess, I can get myself out, ‘cause I always do. I didn’t come here to sucker you into hanging out with me, or whatever. I know that’s what it looks like but don’t misinterpretate- misenter- don’t _get me wrong._ I’m not some creep who’s gonna stalk you, I’m _not._ Honest, I just came here because there was nowhere else to go and I didn’t want them to follow me home because my aunt lives there and you – you believe me, right? I’m here ‘cause I needed a place to hide, that’s it. You don’t have to try to help.”

 

“ _Somebody_ has to, Hiro,” Sunfire says quietly, settling onto the floor next to him. “Look, I do believe you, okay? I’ve seen Yama try to hurt you before. And I talked to the bouncer after closing and she said there were some suspicious guys hanging around and they tried to get in. I know you didn’t want them to find your house. I _hope_ you’re not familiar enough with the red light district that you’ve got a dozen different places to hide. I don’t think you were trying to be creepy, even if you do have dangerous hobbies.”

 

“So why won’t you just let me go home, already?”

 

“I’m trying to _get_ you home, dummy,” Sunfire says, tugging gently on Hiro’s ear. “If I let you go alone you’re gonna end up a gross puddle on the pavement. Your words, not mine.”

 

“So?” Hiro tries to snap, although it probably comes out more petulant than he intends. Sunfire’s prodding at his face now in an effort to get him to look at him, but Hiro stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed on a patch of damp on the wall. “I already told you, you don’t have to look out for me.”

 

“Do you _want_ to be a gross puddle on the pavement?”

 

“No! But I don’t need you to protect me!”

 

“You sure as hell need _someone_ ,” Sunfire scoffs. “You’re so drunk I can barely understand what you’re saying.”

 

“I tape a _fence_ to that.”

 

“See?”

 

Hiro doesn’t see, and he makes this clear by staying silent. Sunfire softens slightly, releasing a breath through his nose and running a hand through his hair. It’s messy and glittery and sticks up in several directions, and the man’s still got a little makeup on his face from his routine. Nothing major, probably just some basic eyeliner or whatever, but he looks tired and older than he is in the cold fluorescent lights. Hiro glances at his feet; he’s got a pair of ratty old Converse knockoffs on along with his sweatpants. At least he’s comfy, this time, although Hiro sort of misses the whole sexy-police-officer getup.

 

“Hiro…you’re a good guy, you know that, right? Even if you do have shit taste in men. And while this is technically your fault, that doesn’t mean you deserve to get hurt. That doesn’t mean I – that doesn’t mean anyone _wants_ you to get hurt. Right now I can help you. I _want_ to. It would make me feel a lot better if I knew you were safe. So could you do this for me?” he asks softly, leaning into Hiro’s line of vision. “We can’t stay here all night. They’re gonna close up soon and the manager will tell us to leave.”

 

Hiro blinks back, chin pillowed on his forearms where they’re wrapped around his knees. He probably looks kind of dumb, curled in on himself like this. Sighing, he stretches out a little and crosses his legs, fingers picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “You must really feel sorry for me, huh? I just…I mess up a lot.”

 

There’s a pause. “Hiro. You remember when you let me stay over at your place? It was because you figured I was in trouble and you wanted to help me out, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you have ulterior motives? Were you trying to rob me, or get into my pants?”

 

“What? _No,_ of course not, I wasn’t-“

 

“Was it because you felt _sorry_ for me?”

 

“…no. You needed a place to stay.”

 

Sunfire bumps their shoulders gently. “Exactly. You just wanted to help. So you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? I want to help you. I want to give you a ride home so I know you’re safe. It’s not because I feel sorry for you, it’s because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“Sure,” says Hiro, although he doesn’t sound convinced even to himself.

 

Sunfire considers him for a moment, and then clambers to his feet with a huff, stretching his arms above his head and wincing as his joints pop. “Come on, buddy. They’ll be turning out the lights soon, we have to get going either way.” He holds out a hand to help Hiro up.

 

Hiro tries not to think about them both curled up together on his bedroom floor, and takes it.

 

 

 

The world sways as he stands. The lights might flicker in his head, or it might be the manager closing up for the night. Either way Hiro staggers straight into Sunfire, faceplanting into the soft material of the man’s hoodie with a quiet noise of distress.

 

Sunfire steadies him with hushed, soothing words. An arm is wrapped around Hiro’s shoulders, and he’s led _somewhere –_ every wall and corner looks the same to him, Sunfire may as well be leading him through a messy, boozy maze. He’s got the distinct impression he’s not walking in a straight line, although he doesn’t actually fall over. There are a couple of heart-stopping moments when he thinks his dinner might be making an encore, though.

 

Cold air hits him like a full-body falcon punch. It doesn’t do a whole lot to clear his head; it still feels a little like his mind is floating somewhere behind him, attached only by a thin cord of self-awareness. He has _no idea_ when the alcohol hit him. Sitting down may not have been such a good idea, he thinks dimly as Sunfire steers him through the parking area with slow, sure steps. Hiro stumbles over his own shoelaces. Sunfire sighs and kneels to tie them for him.

 

“You look like you’re gonna ask me to marry you,” Hiro snorts.

 

Sunfire blinks at him, and then smiles, although it looks weird on his face. Like it’s not properly turned up at the corners and it’s giving him dark circles instead of laugh lines. “You don’t wanna marry me, Hiro.”

 

“Why not?” Hiro responds amicably, reaching out to give Sunfire an uncoordinated pat on the shoulder. “Not that bad.”

 

“Are you talking about me or you?” Sunfire says, although he turns away before Hiro can think of an answer. Something heavy and hard is placed on his head, and Hiro grunts. “Now, be careful. I only have one helmet, so hold on tight and don’t fall off. Have you ever ridden one of these before?”

 

“No,” says Hiro, like Sunfire’s some sort of idiot. “It’s a helmet. It’s too small to ride.”

 

Sunfire sighs. “Alright. Just…try to stay calm, okay? I’m not gonna go very fast. If you feel me leaning just follow me. Don’t try to go in the other direction, don’t try to straighten up. It’s a scooter, so it’s light and it might feel like it’s wobbling a little here and there. Just hold on to me tight and relax.”

 

Hiro squints at him. “I thought you didn’t _want_ me to…stuff.”

 

“You have my permission to touch me now, for your own safety,” Sunfire says slowly, settling himself on his moped and patting the seat behind him. “I don’t know the way to your place by road, so you’re gonna need to direct me. Can you do that?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Guess that’ll have to do. Get on. Don’t fall, drunkard.”

 

“Not drunk,” Hiro grumbles, sliding gingerly onto the seat and wrapping his arms loosely around Sunfire’s middle.

 

“Sit properly, you’re tipping to the left.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Keep your feet on the footrests and don’t put them on the ground until I tell you to.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Don’t grab my arms or shoulders or we’ll crash.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Put your arms around me properly and scoot closer.”

 

“…mmm.”

 

Sunfire revs the engine and the world starts moving. Hiro instinctively clings to his back like a monkey, eyes squeezing shut because the blurring scenery is making him nauseous, and the _last_ thing he wants is to spew all over his driver’s back. Third to last, maybe. The last thing he wants he wants is for Yama to find him.

 

The second to last would be to pop a sudden boner, because Sunfire’s back, unfortunately, feels strong and masculine and _fantastic._

 

He points in lieu of giving actual directions, because he’s still worried about being sick even if they’re going mercifully slowly. Sunfire is warm despite the San Fransokyo chill, and Hiro attempts to bury his face into the man’s back even with the dorky helmet in the way. It would be nice if they had music, or something, instead of the rev of the engine and the usual downtown noises. More romantic. Although Sunfire doesn’t want that, probably, which sort of sucks. Is he okay with Hiro being so close? Probably, he _did_ say to hold on tight. And riding motorcycles can be _scary._ It’s absolutely not his fault that he decides to wriggle closer to the man in front of him until their torsos are flush, Hiro’s knees touching Sunfire’s thighs and face pressed between his shoulder blades.

 

If they were cuddling properly he’d be able to hear Sunfire’s heartbeat, Hiro thinks a little dreamily, eyes fluttering shut at the thought. But this is nice too. It’s easy to imagine this is what it would be like after a date, when Hiro’s had one glass of wine too many and Sunfire’s dropping him off at home. Or, even better, taking him to _his_ home, where they could kiss and cuddle and maybe even…

 

And then they’d fall asleep together, probably, and Hiro’d put his cold feet on Sunfire’s back. Or they could spoon, and Sunfire would snore and it would be noisy and also kind of endearing.

 

And the bed would be _really_ soft and warm with a million pillows and fluffy blankets and a patch of sun that filtered through the window every morning.

 

It’d be _really_ nice to sleep together.

 

…it’d be really nice to sleep _at all._

 

 

 

Hiro doesn’t hear Sunfire asking him whether to take a right or a left.

 

He doesn’t notice when the cotton in his head starts to get even denser, blocking out the light from his vision completely.

 

He doesn’t notice Sunfire grabbing his arms with one hand and screaming at him to _stay awake, you idiot,_ but he’s already out cold by that point, so he can probably be forgiven for that.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Hiro does not, against all expectations, wake up dead.

 

Takes a while to convince himself of that, though. The only reason he knows he’s not already a corpse is because corpses probably don’t experience this kind of _pain._

 

Unless this is actually hell, which would actually make more sense.

 

He groans and opens his eyes. It’s a Herculean effort, for some reason, because it actually feels like he’s been lying with them open in front of a hairdryer all night. Sitting up makes the world spin precariously, and for a good few seconds he has to clamp his hand over his mouth because he’s _sure_ he’s gonna throw up all over the cement floor.

 

Cement floor. He doesn’t know anywhere with cement floors.

 

Shit. Where is he? Hospital? Unlikely, because everything smells like rubber and motor oil, not disinfectant. He’s pretty sure he’d have a bed, anyway, if he were in the hospital, not a sofa with springs sticking out and digging into his ass.

 

Not a holding cell either, then, because there aren’t any other inmates giving him dirty looks from beyond the bars. There _aren’t_ any bars. Just flat walls and a mess of tools and a couple of clothes lying around, and a huge table by the wall with more junk and what looks like a mini fridge.

 

He upsets an unopened bottle of water when he moves his foot. He picks it up, twists the cap, drinks half of it in one go, and thinks.

 

He remembers most of last night. He’d finished school for the week, come home, had dinner, and then snuck out after midnight to go botfighting. Had won a substantial amount of money, almost got beaten up by Yama –

 

He stops. Pats his pockets; Megabot’s in the pouch of his hoodie, and his money’s folded up neatly in the back pocket of his jeans. He squints as he counts – _two hundred, four hundred, six, eight._ Everything’s here. Everything save for about forty dollars, which he’d spent on…two shots? Three? And a cocktail? Something potent, definitely, because his mouth is full of sandpaper and there’s something drilling a hole through his head that all his brains are leaking out of. He finishes off the water and groans again, the noise echoing too-loud even in his own ears.

 

Wobbling to his feet takes a lot longer than it should. He leaves the bottle where it is and shuffles to the door, bumbling his way around things and stubbing his toes twice. Fluorescent lighting assaults him the moment he gets though the door, making him squeeze his eyes shut and groan _yet again_ in discontent.

 

“You okay, buddy?”

 

Hiro grunts. The answer to this should be obvious.

 

Someone laughs at him. Hiro cracks both eyes open and grunts a second time, this time vaguely aggressively. Slowly, his eyes adjust; the lights aren’t actually that bad, not nearly as bad as the sunlight coming through the huge garage doors, although even that’s broken up by the sheer amount of _stuff_ everywhere. Like the car suspended right above his head, for instance. Hiro squints at it and huffs.

 

Sunfire’s not twenty feet away, elbow-deep in the engine of a Niisan, dressed in dirty jeans, work boots, and an oil-stained t shirt that probably didn’t deserve its fate. He’s watching Hiro like he’s about to do something hilarious, which is quite unbearably annoying.

 

“What,” says Hiro, because it’s daytime and he’s hungover and that’s all he can reasonably be expected to say at this point.

 

Sunfire gestures to the garage with the wrench in his right hand. “Welcome to my second job. I’m a mechanic. Ta-dah.”

 

Hiro blinks at him a little myopically, and then wanders over to peer at Sunfire’s work. It’s better than looking at Sunfire, at any rate, because the man’s irritatingly serene for somebody who’s awake and working at the asscrack of dawn.

 

“It’s noon. And I can hear you muttering, you know, I’m standing right next to you.”

 

“…sorry.”

 

Sunfire chuckles at him. He’s back to being a normal young man; his face is clear of makeup and his hair’s no longer done up in that ridiculous coiffeur that makes his cheekbones stand out in high-def. His eyebags are still there, although Hiro supposes those must be a permanent accessory to him at this point. He glances at Sunfire’s hands – smudged with oil, palms that he knows from experience are calloused and rough. An odd contrast to the traces of glitter that are still clinging to his face, but Hiro can’t really say much when he’d been covered in the stuff himself for a week.

 

“What happened last night?” he croaks, rubbing both hands over his face in an effort to wake up more than halfway. Sunfire snorts and then pinches Hiro’s arm, leaving a smudge of motor oil that Hiro whines at automatically.

 

“You fell asleep on the back of my scooter, you dumbass. You nearly fell off and died. I had to take my hoodie off and tie you to me so you’d stay on. You know how cold it was driving around in just a t-shirt? And I could barely stay upright with you melting all over me, you’re a lot heavier than you look.” He takes the opportunity to pinch Hiro again. Hiro makes a piteous noise.

 

“I’m _sorry,”_ he says, holding his arm protectively to his chest. “I’m suffering for it now, believe me.”

 

“How much did you drink?”

 

“Too much,” Hiro mutters darkly. “I regret everything.”

 

“Didn’t the bartender stop you?”

 

“He _encouraged_ me.”

 

Sunfire frowns. “I’m going to have a word with him about over-serving minors.”

 

“I’m _legal,”_ Hiro protests, although his voice helpfully cracks halfway. He allows for a moment of self-directed affront; the hangover has him sounding like he swallowed a razor, which could be sexy but unfortunately only makes him sound pubescent. “Anyway, why am I here?”

 

“Some people believe we’ve been put on this earth to worship a higher being, others think we’re just a happy accident. Personally, I think-”

 

“ _Ha, ha._ Why am I at your _job?”_

 

Sunfire goes back to fiddling with a spark plug, humming tunelessly under his breath as he works. “I told you, I don’t remember the way to your place. You fell asleep before we got there.”

 

“So you brought me to,” Hiro gestures vaguely.

 

“Downtown San Fransokyo. It was either I bring you to work with me or leave you by a dumpster to rot. I think I chose the kinder option.”

 

“…thanks,” Hiro mumbles, frowning at the light coming from outside. Sunfire’s voice is starting to grate less on his ears, but he still wishes he had a pair of sunglasses or something. “Is there any way we could turn that off?”

 

Sunfire follows his line of vision. “You mean the sun?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Not that I’m aware. There’s a fire extinguisher in the corner, though, you’re welcome to try.” He pauses, tossing his wrench into the toolbox by his feet and starting what looks like a routine check up on the rest of the engine. “Alternatively, there’s a first aid kit stashed under the bench by the wall. You’ll find some aspirin in there. Might help the hangover. There’s more stuff to drink there, too.”

 

“You are a literal angel,” Hiro sighs, following Sunfire’s pointed finger. There’s a reasonably well-organised stash of stuff under the bench, but Hiro’s only interested in the big green box with the plus sign on it. He roots through it as quickly as he can in his muddled state; Hiro doesn’t even _recognize_ some of this stuff, but it looks like he’s got a tiny hospital in his lap. It’s actually kind of impressive.

 

The aspirin’s in these little pouches of two. Hiro rips one open and swallows its contents dry, and then immediately regrets it. It feels like they’ve managed to get caught in his throat and they taste like _shit,_ and it’s with a grimace that he casts around for something to drink. The first thing he finds is a bottle of Pepsi. It’ll do.

 

The cola helps with the taste of dissolved aspirin, at least. Hiro stuffs everything haphazardly back into its box, and then stands and stretches his arms over his head. His joints feel like they’ve been removed and then put back on at wrong angles, although he’s not sure how much of that is the hangover and how much is from Sunfire’s shitty employee couch thing.

 

“’S pretty cool you’ve got your own garage like this,” he says offhandedly, toddling back to hover around as Sunfire finishes his work on this car and reaches up to snap the hood shut. Hiro offers him the bottle of Pepsi.

 

“It isn’t mine, I just work here,” he says, taking a swig and handing the drink back. “Why are you drinking soda for breakfast?”

 

“I need my sugar, okay? I’m too bitter on my own.”

 

“I prefer ‘sweetheart’ to ‘sugar’, but whatever makes you happy.”

 

Hiro sputters at him. Sunfire laughs and turns away.

 

He wipes his hands off on the rag hanging from his belt, which is already so dirty that it’s not so much removing anything so much as moving it around. Hiro watches with an almost pensive expression. “What’s it like? Being a mechanic, I mean.”

 

Sunfire shrugs and picks up his toolbox, flipping the cover shut. “It’s not bad. Work’s pretty fun. It’s a lot to deal with, though.”

 

“Yeah, you uh…two jobs, huh? I can barely handle working the cash register for my aunt’s café on weekends, it’s seriously cool you can handle everything at once.”

 

“Nah, I’m just a regular guy, I put my shirt on one leg at a time.”

 

“Really.”

 

“Yup. Luckily for me, this place is pretty flexible, since time management is kind of a nightmare. Getting from here to the club takes like an hour by tram, so before I got my moped I used to have a lot of trouble. One time I showed up two minutes before a solo, and they had me get up on stage just like this. I got motor oil everywhere, kept slipping off the pole. Crowd seemed okay with it, though,” he grins.

 

“I can imagine,” says Hiro under his breath.

 

If Sunfire hears him, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gestures cheerfully over his shoulder at the shiny red moped sitting in the corner of the garage, half-covered in tarp to protect it from dirt. “But my boss got this for scrap a few months ago. She said I could keep it if I could fix it up, so I did. It made my life a lot easier, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“Nice boss.”

 

“Yup. It’s a pretty great place to work. You get dinged up a little, though,” he says, shifting his tools around to show Hiro his hand. It’s littered with old scars, and the ends of his nails are blackened with motor oil.

 

Hiro huffs a laugh. “I feel you there,” he says, offering a hand in return to be examined. “I’ve got battle scars of my own. Don’t like gloves. They get in the way.”

 

“You know, your lack of self-preservation instincts is actually kind of concerning.”

 

“What – I have self-preservation instincts!”

 

“Mhm.” Sunfire tucks his things under one arm and strides off to work his magic on a beat-up old Cadillac, Hiro trailing behind. “Bot fighting by yourself. Hustling people twice your size. Getting on the bad side of yakuza _three_ times your size. Getting drunk when you’re supposed to be running away from them. Falling asleep on the back of a moving vehicle and almost cracking your head open on the asphalt.” Sunfire hands his tools to Hiro to hold, and pops the hood of the car open to take a look at it. “Face it, kid, you’re prone to bad decisions.”

 

“My decisions are _great,”_ Hiro replies hotly. Except or all the stuff Sunfire just mentioned. And also the fact that he’s picked a disinterested stripper to have a crush on, probably.

 

Good thing he’s too hungover to pay attention to that, anyway, never mind that the aspirin’s already kicking in. Clearing his throat, Hiro busies himself investigating the contents of Sunfire’s toolbox, steadfastly ignoring the amused snort the man gives him over his shoulder.

 

It’s pretty standard stuff, none of the very expensive and very fiddly tools that Hiro’s invested in over the years. Half of this is department store-brand, and Hiro frowns at a screwdriver. He could put together something _much_ better if Sunfire wanted. All the same, it’s pretty impressive what a range of things he’s got; there are some bits and pieces in here even _Hiro_ doesn’t have, has to go the his lab at SFIT to use because he never seems to get around to buying himself.

 

“You really take care of your tools,” he says, inspecting a perfectly polished set of alan keys. “They’re all from a bunch different sets, huh? Don’t think Craftsman carries all of this stuff.” He flips the cover closed again to look at the label, tilting his head a little so he can read it properly.

 

A piece of white tape in the corner with faded writing catches his eye. “’Tadashi’. Is that your boss?”

 

Sunfire hits his head on the hood in his haste to turn around. Hiro winces in sympathy.

 

“ _What?_ Where did you-” he rasps, clutching at the back of his head. His gaze goes from Hiro’s frightened face to the toolbox in his hand, zoning in on the name written in neat block letters on a piece of white tape. “Oh. Right. S _hit.”_

 

Hiro blinks rapidly. “…is that _you?”_

 

Sunfire blinks back. “…no.”

 

“It _is_ you!”

 

“No it isn’t!” Sunfire says, making a grab for the toolbox. Hiro ducks and runs away to hide behind a car, tools clutched protectively to his chest like that’s somehow relevant to the situation. “Hiro, give that back!”

 

“Your name is Tadashi!” Hiro points an accusatory finger.

 

 _Tadashi_ comes after him, chasing Hiro around a Honda with a smashed window. Hiro, fortunately, is a little faster. “My name is Sunfire. Give me my toolbox!”

 

“What do you think I am, a goldfish? I’m not gonna forget just because you take your nametag thing away,” Hiro says over his shoulder, darting gleefully around a spare tire with Tadashi hot on his heels. “Can’t catch me, Tada- _oof!”_

 

He’s tackled to the ground. The toolbox goes clattering off into the distance, metal pieces rattling around inside. Tadashi is heavy and the floor is _hard,_ and Hiro manages to bang every joint and his chin on unrelenting cement. He’s certain his life flashes before his eyes. The flashback is, unfortunately, very brief and kind of boring.

 

Tadashi rolls off of him with a groan. “Augh, fuck.Are you…fuck, Hiro, are you okay?”

 

Hiro whimpers. Tadashi sighs.

 

“Shit. Shit, okay, I’m sorry, hold on. I’ll help you up, just stay still, okay?” Tadashi’s voice gets closer, and then Hiro is gingerly being turned over. “You’re not bleeding, so that’s good. Looks like nothing’s broken – shit, I think I might have knocked your teeth out of place.”

 

“They were always like that, asshole,” Hiro wheezes, letting himself be sat upright. He rubs his chin with a soft noise of discontent as Tadashi prods at him, possibly to check for damage. It’s annoying, though, and Hiro swats him away irritably. “What the _hell?_ Were you trying to crush me?”

 

“Look, I’m _sorry._ Why did you run?”

 

“Because you were _chasing me!”_ Hiro snaps, punching his arm. Tadashi takes it with surprisingly good grace. “God, you’re such a _dick.”_ He pauses, shifting around so his knee isn’t digging into the other man’s chest. “Are you really that upset I found out what your name was?”

 

Tadashi frowns deeply. “I don’t know. It’s not your fault, but I guess it’s making me a little…uneasy, I suppose. Nobody at the club knows I work here, and nobody who knows my name knows what my _stripper_ name is, so…I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have freaked out like that, but…you know. I just…I’m sorry.”

 

“…sorry I laughed at you,” Hiro replies quietly, dropping his gaze to inspect his shoelaces instead. Great. He feels like a _heel_ now, lording Tadashi’s name over him when the guy must be feeling exposed and vulnerable. Hiro’d found out information Tad- _Sunfire_ hadn’t been willing to give. It hadn’t been his fault, but… “Must have looked like I was real smug about it, huh. Sorry. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

 

Sunfire sighs and sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair the way he does, Hiro notices, whenever he’s uncomfortable. “Shit. I dunno. I mean, the cat’s out of the bag now, right? No real point hiding it anymore, huh.” He huffs humourlessly, and Hiro wrings his hands.

 

There’s a good few seconds of silence. Carefully, Hiro hauls himself to his feet, rubbing at his knees. He feels like he’s been falling on them a lot, lately. Might be worth slapping some band-aids on when he gets home. Wordlessly, he holds out a hand; Sunfire looks a lot smaller when Hiro’s standing over him like this, and somehow the feeling doesn’t go away even when he lets Hiro help him up.

 

 

 

“You know, I’m really ticklish,” Hiro says, trying for a smile. Sunfire raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Right here,” Hiro says, pointing at his ribs. “Last month my aunt tried to hug me, but she accidentally jabbed my ribs and I nearly put my elbow in her face. It’s terrible. And, I was always kind of the runt of the year in high school, so I used to get it all the time. I mean, it wasn’t like anyone stuffed me in lockers or anything, but sometimes the guys in my gym class would gang up on me and tickle me till I begged for mercy, you know? I think I almost cried once.”

 

The corner of Sunfire’s mouth is turned up a little, as though he’s unsure of whether or not to laugh. His arms are folded securely in front of him, shoulders a little higher than they normally are. “You’re telling me this because…?”

 

“I’m giving you dangerous information about myself,” Hiro says matter-of-factly, punctuating the thought with a little half-shrug. “I mean, you’re a lot bigger than me. If you wanted to incapacitate me, all you’d have to do is go for my ribs. And, uhm, what else? I have an allergy to peanuts. Nothing major, but my lips swell up like crazy and I get all teary-eyed. Oh, and I get spooked by mirrors, but only in the dark. I don’t know why, but something about them really freaks me out, you know?”

 

“Mhm.” Sunfire’s smile is a little wider now, and he reaches forward to ruffle Hiro’s hair none-too-gently. His hand I warm against Hiro’s head. “So if I wanted you at my mercy, I’d just have to stick you in a dark room full of mirrors and then feed you peanuts and tickle your ribs?”

 

“Basically,” Hiro says. “I dunno about you, man, but if I had all this dirt on someone, I’d feel pretty powerful.”

 

“Oh, you’re right,” Sunfire nods along. “I basically own you now. Say hello to a life of servitude, kiddo.”

 

“And here I trusted you to keep this information safe,” says Hiro gravely. He keeps it up for all of half a second before his face automatically relaxes into what he hopes is something reassuring. “I’m sorry I found out your name. I mean, I didn’t _mean_ to, but, I hope that you don’t feel uncomfortable about me knowing. Maybe…maybe this isn’t worth much, but if you want to, we can forget this ever happened. I’m happy to do whatever makes you feel better.” Warmth is starting to creep onto his ears. “So, uhm, don’t be bummed. Frowning doesn’t suit you.”

 

“I do a lot of stuff that doesn’t suit me,” Sunfire shrugs. He rubs the back of his neck, craning his head a little to see where his toolbox has gone to. “But I guess it’s a little silly to have you know my name and act like you don’t. So you can just, uh, call me that, I guess. My name, I mean. ‘Sides, I’d have a lot of explaining to do if you called me ‘Sunfire’ and my boss or someone walked in.”

 

“Tadashi,” Hiro says hesitantly, testing the name out on his tongue. He rolls it around behind his teeth; _Tadashi._ It tastes the way wood smoke feels, dark and barely sweet. Completely different from _Sunfire,_ which is bubbly and playful and stings at the edges of his mouth like whiskey burn. “Tadashi,” he says again, quiet but a little firm. It’s a good name, and he likes the way his tongue taps against the roof of his mouth on the first two syllables.

 

Tadashi’s watching him intently, eyes fixed somewhere on the lower half of Hiro’s face. Hiro swallows at the sudden attention, and it almost feels like Tadashi’s gaze follows the slight bob of his Adam’s apple.

 

He thinks about how incredibly sweet Tadashi’s mouth must taste after all that cola.

 

“I have to go,” he says a little thickly, taking a step back and breaking the moment. Tadashi blinks like he’s been slapped, glancing back up at Hiro’s eyes and parting his lips like he’s going to argue.

 

Instead he just nods. Quick, and then he’s running his hand through his hair again, messing it up and probably dirtying it too. “Yeah,” he murmurs, sticking both hands in his pockets and jerking his chin at the entrance. “Do you, uh, think you’ll be okay getting home on your own? I can give you a ride, if you need me to.”

 

“Nah,” Hiro waves him off with a little smile. “I’ve imposed so much already. Thanks for all this, by the way,” he says, gesturing around the garage. “I guess this means we’re even from the last time when I let you crash at my place. Sorry about your toolbox,” he says, going over to pick it up and check it for damages. “Seems fine, though.”

 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” says Tadashi, taking the box from him, although he doesn’t bother checking it the way Hiro did. “There’s a metro station nearby and a tram a little further away. Be safe getting home, make sure Yama isn’t following you or anything. You sure you’ll be okay?”

 

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been dodging Yama for years, and I know San Fransokyo like the back of my head.”

 

Tadashi snorts. “That’s not very reassuring.”

 

“I’ll be fine.” Hiro’s lead to the exit, and he sticks a hand in his pocket, mirroring the way Tadashi scratches at the back of his neck. “Have fun at work. Thanks for the aspirin.”

 

“You’re welcome. But, uhm, try to remember. _Tadashi_ when you’re here, _Sunfire_ at the club, okay?”

 

“I will, I will,” Hiro says flippantly, and then backtracks. “What do you mean _when_ I’m here? You expecting me to come back?”

 

“Uh,” Tadashi makes an aborted gesture, and then laughs. “All I mean is, I can’t stop you from coming over here if you want to. You have a habit of showing up where I work. Nothing I can do about it.”

 

“It’s not by choice,” Hiro huffs, turning quite a charming shade of pink. “Not all the time, anyway. Fine, I get it, I’m leaving.”

 

“Hey.” Tadashi catches the back of his hoodie, suppressing a grin. “I’m only kidding. I don’t mind you dropping in, if you want to.”

 

“Do you want me to or not?”

 

“Maybe.” Smiling, he lets go of Hiro and makes a shooing motion with one hand. “Go on, now. You’re gonna get stuck in the lunch hour rush if you wait around any longer.”

 

Hiro makes a face at him, although it probably doesn’t do anything to hide how flustered he feels. He’s learnt the hard way that his emotions have a habit of making themselves very clear. “Yeah, sure. Bye, Tadashi.”

 

“Get home in one piece, Hiro.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

 

 

Stepping out into the sunshine, surprisingly, doesn’t make Hiro want to run back inside and hide under a car. He’s sore, sure, and everything’s a bit too loud and a bit too bright, but he feels a lot better somehow. Must be the aspirin.

 

Aunt Cass is going to kick up a fuss when he gets home. He’ll have to give her his absolute best kicked puppy expression and blame everything on Fred for keeping him out all night. And then he’ll have to make it up to Fred, probably. Buy him lunch, or build him a little robot kaiju, or something. A fire-breathing one, maybe, as long as Honey Lemon doesn’t find out about it. He can get to work on it once he’s done convincing his aunt that he hasn’t had any organs stolen from him.

 

…maybe after looking up the meaning of Tadashi’s name first, though. No biggie. Just out of curiosity, and all that.

 

He kicks at a rock and sends it skittering across the sidewalk. Tadashihad said he wouldn’t mind seeing him again, although Hiro’s not sure if that’s actually an offer. The prospect of spending time with him sends something warm skittering around his stomach, although it’s accompanied by a twinge of uncertainty. He’d made a fool of himself last night, hadn’t he? And Tadashi had made his rejection fairly clear. Hiro could really do without overstepping his bounds and making the guy hate him.

 

 

“Maybe,” Hiro says under his breath, skipping over a crack and tilting his head at a pigeon that waddles across his path. It’s not really a yes, but Tadashi hadn’t really seemed to mind him being around. And he’d been vocal about what he _didn’t_ like, hadn’t he? It didn’t seem like he’d just been humouring Hiro when he’d said he didn’t mind Hiro dropping in. Hiro can’t know for sure, though. All he does know is that he’d…actually really like to spend more time with Tadashi. Even if they can’t go out, it’d be nice to have a friend.

 

“Maybe,” he says again. And then he grins.

 

 

It’s not really a yes. But it’s not a no, either.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what car does a little brother ride
> 
> a _niisan_
> 
> for a chapter in which nothing really happened, it was very long. 
> 
>  
> 
> The other day I was walking home from campus and a homeless guy asked me for a cigarette. I don’t smoke, so I told him I didn’t have one. He said ‘fuck off, what are you here for, then?’
> 
> well you see
> 
> I am an immigrant
> 
> So I’m really here to take your job, but you don’t have one, and I don’t have a cigarette, so I suppose we’re both disappointed now aren’t we?
> 
>  
> 
> also, two days ago I was walking around and I slowed to a stop next to where some old lady was sitting so I could use my phone. She looked at me and just. Clutched her purse closer to her. Why. Is it because I am brown.
> 
> i'm actually more insulted that you thought i'd steal a purse that _didnt even look expensive_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mood whiplash: the musical

 

 

“So, he doesn’t want to date,” Honey Lemon says, crossing her legs and straightening out the hem of her dress. The pink and white stripes make her look like an exceptionally pretty piece of candy. “But you’re friends, now?”

 

Hiro makes a vague gesture with his hands, shoulders getting acquainted with his ears in a poor imitation of a shrug. “Almost? He never really said. But he _did_ say that I could come back and visit. Or that he expected me to, don’t know if that really makes a difference.”

 

Honey Lemon frowns. “It’s not very nice of him to give you mixed signals like that. Why would he kiss you for no reason? If he likes you, he should say so. If I ever meet him, I’m gonna -- well, I’ll give him a piece of my mind!”

 

Hiro smiles at her as Fred snorts into his chips. “Please don’t, Honey Lemon. He’s made his feelings pretty clear, actually. He doesn’t want to date, even if we did, you know,” he pauses to kick Fred’s ankle. “Kiss.”

 

“But how do _you_ feel, little dude?” Fred butts in, deftly pulling his foot out of the way so that Hiro’s sneaker grazes their shared bench harmlessly. “Are you happy with being friends?”

 

Hiro considers this. The sun, although mild, shines right onto him, and he turns his face up to catch some of it. The weather’s finally starting to warm up, although he’ll still be needing a thicker hoodie for a while. That isn’t really saying much, though. Hiro sometimes gets cold looking in the fridge, so a few extra degrees when he’s sitting in the quad after class isn’t much to shout about. He’s strategically placed himself between his friends to avoid any breeze, in fact, although Honey Lemon would probably lend him her scarf if he asked. “It’s not like I really have a choice. I can’t force the guy to date me, not that I’d want to. Talk about creepy,” he wrinkles his nose. “I dunno. I mean, I like him. He’s funny and cool and pretty interesting. Being friends isn’t a bad thing, right?”

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Honey Lemon agrees, lips still pursed. “It’s him being cryptic that I’m not happy about. The world would be a much happier place if everyone were honest about things.”

 

Hiro shrugs. “I’m not gonna lie, I was pretty bummed.” _Still is, really._ “But I guess there isn’t much I can do about it, you know? It’s smarter to just let him do what he wants and not worry about it.”

 

She smiles at him encouragingly and he smiles back, even when he notices Fred’s raised eyebrow. “That’s the spirit, muffin! Don’t bother yourself over a silly guy, even if he is cute. You’re loved either way – he doesn’t even know what he’s missing!” She pauses, teeth worrying at her lower lip and probably ruining her lip gloss. “We shouldn’t have pushed you to ask him out like that, Hiro. We – _I’m_ sorry. Telling you to date someone without actually asking how he felt about you is not the best advice I’ve given.”

 

Hiro reddens slightly. “I – you really don’t have to apologise,” he chuckles weakly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean, you know. It’s not like you _forced_ me to – it’s really not your fault. I wanted to date him. I probably would’ve done it on my own eventually.”

 

She does an odd little half-frown. “Still. I wish I’d been smart enough to warn you that it might not work out, or something. You don’t deserve to be sad.”

 

“Sometimes it just doesn’t pan out the way you want it to, I guess,” he says a little ruefully, although he pats her on the hand all the same. “Anyway, it’s almost two. You’re gonna be late to your tutoring thing.”

 

She rummages through her purse for her iPhone, and then exclaims softly at the time displayed on the screen. “Oh no, you’re right! I’ll see you later; Jack really needs help with electrochemistry, so we’ll need all the time we can get. Talk to you later, guys!”

 

 

 

The boys wave her off as she speed-walks across the grass, high heels clacking when she steps onto the gravelly pathway leading to the academic buildings. Hiro watches her figure get smaller as Fred turns his bag of chips over in an attempt to get anything hiding at the bottom. A few crumbs fall into his mouth, but nothing worthwhile aside from that. “So, what else is on your mind?”

 

Hiro’s eyes follow a twig sailing through the air as two girls play-fight some distance away. “What makes you think there’s something else on my mind?”

 

“You waited specifically to talk to Honey Lemon twenty minutes before her student mentoring session, instead of telling her everything at lunch. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you weren’t planning on explaining too much to her.” Fred tosses his empty chip packet into the garbage bin across from them. Unsurprisingly, he misses, although he makes no attempt to go pick it up. “So, what actually happened?”

 

“I went back to the strip club after a bot fight,” Hiro grins, not terribly apologetic for withholding the truth. “Not on purpose, it’s just…well, I had to make a run for it, and going to the club sounded better than leading them back to the café. I might have gotten slightly drunk --”

 

“While running for your life?”

 

“—not on _purpose,_ might I add, but it happened. And I tried to get home by myself, but Sunfire said I was gonna get myself killed, and he said he’d drive me home. Except, I fell asleep on the back of his scooter so he took me to his second job instead. He’s a mechanic, turns out.”

 

Fred furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t see the link between you falling asleep and him taking you back to his place instead of yours.”

 

“I was giving him directions,” Hiro shrugs. “He didn’t know the rest of the way back so he gave up instead of trying to wake me. And I, uhm. I found out his name.”

 

 _That_ gets Fred interested. He grins wide, leaning forward and into Hiro’s personal space, threadbare t-shirt wrinkled as he rests his chin on his hand. “And?”

 

“And he kind of freaked out,” Hiro says hesitantly. “It’s…a good name. I like it. But, I don’t know if he’d want everyone knowing.”

 

“Fair enough.” Fred goes back to slouching, one arm draped over the back of the bench and tapping out some mindless rhythm against the wood. “Anything else happen?”

 

“Not really. I was hungover, he gave me aspirin, we chatted a little and I went home. And there was the thing about visiting, although I already told you that.”

 

“And are you? Gonna visit, I mean.”

 

Hiro sucks on the inside of his cheek. “Maybe. I mean, I sort of want to, and he didn’t seem against it.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he smiles, small and lopsided, gaze trained on a dandelion rubbing its head against his shoe. “I think he’s starting to think of me as a friend. He’s not so uncomfortable around me anymore. But the last thing I want to do is force myself on him, since he’s right about not knowing me so well. I’m not so sure about going back to see him. It would be nice, yeah, but I don’t want to look a weird stalker, or something. I dunno. Maybe one day he’ll grow to trust me, you know?”

 

Fred regards him thoughtfully. “Seems like you really trust _him.”_

 

“I do?” Hiro blinks, finally turning to look at his friend. “I mean, I guess I do. Is that weird?”

 

“Not _weird,_ no,” Fred says. “But it’s not just him who doesn’t know you, you know. You don’t really know him so well either. I’m not saying you need to _worry_ about him, but you do seem pretty chummy with the guy.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve seen each other kind of a lot. We’re not strangers, anyway, he slept over and I’ve been to both the places he works and I know his name. I think we’re past the point of being cautious or whatever.”

 

“I guess you are. You know, I read somewhere that sleeping next to someone makes you trust ‘em more.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Nothing, probably.” He’s using, Hiro notes, that irritatingly vague tone he always uses whenever he’s thinking about something and doesn’t feel like properly explaining. “It’s cool that you’re friends, though.”

 

“I’m not a hundred per cent sure we’re friends,” Hiro clarifies. “I mean I’d _like_ us to be, but I think I’ve learnt my lesson about making assumptions.”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Honey Lemon was right, we shouldn’t really have encouraged you with no proof,” says Fred absently. “But he definitely doesn’t _not_ like you.”

 

Hiro fidgets with the end of his jacket. “I hope not.”

 

Fred snorts. “If he did hate you, he’s doing a shit job of showing it. The guy takes an awful lot of care over you, bro.”

 

“Does he? I mean, I don’t really think he does.”

 

Fred raises an eyebrow at him. “Dude. How many times have you met the guy?”

 

“Uh.” Hiro counts on his fingers, squinting at nothing as he runs through the past few weeks in his head. “Like, five, maybe? Six?”

 

“And in those five or six times, what’s happened between you?”

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

Fred sighs. “Bro, listen. You guys act like a couple in a fucked up rom-com. Now, take what I’m saying with a pinch of salt, okay, man? It’s like you said, it’s no good making assumptions about this guy, since he’s obviously got his own shit to deal with. But, let’s think about it for a second. Handy notwithstanding --”

 

“-- _please_ stop using that word--“

 

“-- is what you guys do normal considering your situation?”

 

A bee buzzes past, making Hiro flinch. “Nothing about this situation is really normal, Fred,” he says, leaning into his friend’s side to make sure the fat yellow insect doesn’t decide to mistake him for a flower. “I mean, I’m a recluse bot-fighter and he’s a stripper. We’re pretty abnormal people.”

 

“Yes, I _know,”_ Fred says patiently, obligingly wrapping an arm around Hiro’s thin shoulders to protect him from the evils of nature. “I – okay. We’ll go step by step. What happened the first time you met?”

 

“I got a lapdance,” says Hiro flatly.

 

“Right. Considering he’s a stripper and you were a customer, that’s pretty normal, right? What happened the second time?”

 

“I dropped in for a chat. No, wait, the second time was when I saw him at SFIT. And then I dropped in for a chat at the club.” Hiro says, shifting around uncomfortably at the memory. “Ran into him again later. Spent the night together. Then he left.”

 

“Fourth time?”

 

“Asked him out. Got shot down. Fred, you _know_ all this, why are you--”

 

“Fifth time?” Fred ignores him, moving away so he can face Hiro properly. “What happened the fifth time?”

 

Hiro frowns. “He came to the Lucky Cat to apologise and set things straight.”

 

“Bingo.” One finger jabbing the air, Fred reaches forward and releases Hiro’s shoulders, eyes glinting with the promise of a plot twist. “Step outside of the situation and think about this for a second, Hiro. The guy’s a stripper. You’re a customer. He said himself that he didn’t want to get into any sort of relationship. Business only, right?”

 

“You don’t have to rub it in, Fred.”

 

The finger jabs his chest, next. “He came all the way to the Lucky Cat _just to make sure your feelings weren’t hurt._ The fifth time you met each other was because, after seeing you for a sum total of, what, a few hours, he came to see you, at your house, because he was worried about you being upset. Now, I thought that was pretty weird from the beginning, but does that actually sound like the kind of thing two strangers would do? Would your average person put that much effort into making someone else feel better if they didn’t at least have some sort of fondness for them?”

 

Hiro’s frown deepens, creasing the patch of skin between his eyebrows and making his shoulders tense. “Assuming he liked me already turned out badly for me.”

 

“I’m not telling you he wants to date you, man,” Fred says. “What I’m saying is that I think he cares about you. At least a little bit, because he worries about you. How many people can you trust to keep you safe when you’re blackout drunk and you have yakuza after you?”

 

“I keep saying they’re _not yakuza—”_

 

“And was anything missing when you woke up? Did you notice anything wrong, like your clothes out of place or that you were hurt somewhere?”

 

Hiro pauses. “No.”

 

“So are you starting to see what I’m saying, little dude?”

 

“Doesn’t that just mean he’s a decent person?” Hiro retorts, exasperated. “I wouldn’t take someone’s stuff if they were vulnerable. You wouldn’t either; hell, you give money to charity and help out in soup kitchens in your spare time. Isn’t this the same thing?”

 

Fred takes a deep breath. When he speaks he does so slowly, mouth twisting like he’s picking his words with caution. “Charity involves me giving things to people who need it, because I have the resources to do so. Checking up on someone to make sure they’re not hurt when I have no obligation to, that’s not really the same thing as charity – okay. What did he say, exactly? What were his reasons for not wanting to date?”

 

“Safety,” says Hiro unhappily. “And that it wouldn’t work out, and that he didn’t…mean what I thought he meant with the whole, you know.”

 

“Right. Cool. Perfectly valid, right?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“But he came back to tell you all this. He told you himself that his safety was the most important thing. And that sex, or, sexy _stuff,_ I dunno, is his job, and it’s different from how you and I think of it. Why did he come to explain all of this to you?”

 

“He said it felt like the right thing to do.”

 

“But it wasn’t the most _sensible_ thing. It would have made more sense for him to stay away, if we’re talking about safety, but he didn’t. He came to make sure you weren’t too bummed. He didn’t _have_ to. But he did. And after that, he insisted on taking you home, because he didn’t want you handling yakuza on your own. He could have left you be; it sure as hell wasn’t his problem, but he _made_ it his problem.” Fred pauses, softening slightly and tapping Hiro on the forehead. “Use that big brain of yours. What does this tell you, bro?”

 

“He doesn’t hate me,” Hiro says quietly.

 

“And?”

 

“He…worries? He doesn’t want me to get hurt?”

 

“Right,” says Fred, leaning back against the bench, scratching at his cheek as he watches a leaf float in the wind. “Now, like I said, I’m not saying you should jump to conclusions. I _am_ saying you should stop second-guessing yourself. From where I’m sitting, at least, he cares about you enough to want you to be safe. And to not mind you spending time with him, looks like. Maybe he already thinks of you as a friend. Someone worth being a friend, anyway.”

 

Hiro draws his knees up to his chest, worn-out Converse no doubt leaving a mark on the bench. “I dunno, Fred. What if he just feels sorry for me?”

 

Fred regards him pensively. “You know him better than I do, little dude. I can’t say for sure that he _doesn’t_ feel sorry for you. All I’m trying to tell you is that people’s actions sometimes tell you more than their words do. You definitely still have to listen to what he says to you, but pay attention to what he doesn’t say, too.”

 

Hiro’s quiet for a good few moments, studying his laces intently. The plastic bit on one end is gone, the – _what was it called again? An agel? He’s sure he’s heard it somewhere, maybe from a cartoon or something –_ and Hiro plays with the frayed fabric idly, rolling it between his fingers in an effort to make it presentable again. He doesn’t succeed, but then again he supposes that his laces work just fine as they are. There’s no real need to fix them. “I just don’t want to make him uncomfortable,” he says into the material of his jeans.

 

Fred pats him on the back. “I think the fact that you’re worried about his comfort is a good start. Give the guy some credit. He’ll appreciate the sentiment, at least.”

 

“Yeah,” says Hiro finally. “Yeah. Things… should work out, right? They normally do.”

 

“Not really,” says Fred cheerfully. “Everything is meaningless and we’ll all die someday. But on a micro level, sure. When you think about the vastness of the universe, personal failings don’t seem like that big of a deal.”

 

“That’s…oddly reassuring. Also kind of morbid.”

 

“It helps me get through dark times,” Fred says, patting his back again and standing up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see a man about a snake.”

 

“Do I want to know what you’re talking about?”

 

“Probably not.” Shoving both hands in his pockets, Fred starts ambling off, whistling tunelessly as he goes. “Honestly, I dunno what to do about your situation,” he says over his shoulder. “But it’s probably worth really thinking about the way you both behave, my man. You might find out you’re not the only one who wants to make a friend.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“He doesn’t hate me. The evidence points to him not hating me. This time I’m _not_ making assumptions, because I am fully aware that this might result in failure. This is a strategic manoeuvre. I’m just going in to observe. If he looks even the littlest bit uncomfortable, I’m gonna leave, and then I’m gonna put this whole thing behind me and not worry about it ever again. I’m not bummed anymore and I’m not desperate, this is just me assessing the situation and I am fully capable of walking away if I need to.”

 

Hiro realises, somewhat belatedly, that he’s in public, by himself, and talking to a tiny robot. Clutching Megabot close to his chest, he rocks on the balls of his feet and looks up; Tadashi’s garage isn’t terribly big, but Hiro’s still dwarfed by the building’s shadow, thoughts interrupted by the sporadic sounds of machinery coming through the huge doors.

 

He’s standing off a little to the side so he can’t be seen by whoever’s inside. He’s not actually sure Tadashi’s _here;_ he’d made sure to come back after exactly a week (on a Friday) at the same time (noon), but it occurs to him as he’s fidgeting with his robot that he’d never specifically asked if Tadashi had regular shifts. Too late for regrets now, he supposes. He’s already spent half an hour trying to get here, and that’s reason enough to swallow his worry and push through with his half-baked plan.

 

He adjusts his beanie one last time before cautiously stepping in. It’s one thing to want to see your crush, after all, but another thing entirely to do so when you’re looking anything less than hot. Which Hiro’s…never going to achieve, probably, but a stripey t-shirt and light jeans are miles better than a faded hoodie and a hangover.

 

“Hello?” he calls into the dim interior, stepping through the entrance with Megabot hidden behind his back. “Is, uh, is anybody home?”

 

Something stops its whirring, and a head in a welding mask pops out from behind the open hood of a car. Hiro blinks at it, and even through the mask, Hiro gets the distinct impression that the man behind it blinks back.

 

The piece of equipment is lifted, and Tadashi squints at him. “Hiro?”

 

“Hi,” says Hiro sheepishly. Stepping forward a little, he holds up Megabot with one hand, the other coming up to rub nervously at the back of his neck. “Wanna help me with some engine trouble?”

 

Tadashi smiles wryly, setting down his torch and coming around the car to talk to him. “Not quite the kind of engine I’m used to,” he says, nodding at Megabot as he wipes his hands off with the rag tied to his belt loop. His jeans are ripped and his tank top is a colour that probably used to be white, but Hiro’s mouth characteristically goes dry once again, unable to do much more than chuckle weakly as his robot is taken from him to be inspected.

 

“If I had a car I’d have brought it,” he says with a shrug. “But I have legs and a bus pass, so this was the next best excuse.”

 

“You don’t really _need_ an excuse,” says Tadashi mildly, turning Megabot over and grinning at its sloppily painted face. “I did say I wouldn’t be surprised if you showed up here again.” He grins, tossing Megabot up and down gently, eyes resting for a second on the beanie. “This your battle bot? Nice hat, by the way.”

 

“I’ve been told it suits me,” Hiro shrugs, taking the robot back and waving its arm to say hello. “And, maybe. It’s a robot, and it’s theoretically very good for battle, but that’s all I’m going to say at this point.”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. What’s in the bag?”

 

Hiro stops fiddling with the bot to glance at the big red plastic bag he’s got looped over one wrist. “Oh, right. I brought lunch and yoghurt, since I kind of stole your soda the last time. And your aspirin. Thanks for that, incidentally.”

 

He’s aiming for _casual._ Succeeding, even, because Tadashi hardly flinches, turning instead to survey their surroundings with a critical eye. They’re alone yet again, garage just as full as Hiro remembers it, this time with different cars that look like they’re in the middle of being dissected for show. “I guess I can take a break. But I’m only going to accept your offer if you’re feeding me something good.”

 

“They’re sandwiches,” Hiro says flatly, handing the bag over for Tadashi to rummage through. “Store bought. I spent good money on that, you ungrateful bastard.”

 

“Thank you,” says Tadashi sweetly, eyes crinkling at the corners with his shit-eating grin. “Come sit on the bench with me?”

 

“Sure,” Hiro trails after him to the very same metal bench where he’d found the first aid kit the last time. Tadashi settles himself with a sigh and pats the spot next to him, and Hiro flops onto his ass as instructed. Not close enough to be touching, but close enough that he can smell motor oil and gasoline coming off his companion. It would be off-putting, normally, but Hiro’s been around machines and metal enough that he finds himself relaxing against the wall. “How come you’re always alone in here?”

 

Tadashi turns a BLT over in his hands, evidently deeming it acceptable and ripping the packaging open with relish. “I’m not alone today, Mr Matsuda’s hanging out in the office. My bosses don’t usually come out when it’s not busy.” He pauses, staring at his oil-smudged hands and then mournfully at his lunch.

 

Hiro takes the sandwich from him, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “I know a Mrs Matsuda. She’s a regular at my aunt’s café,” he says, ripping off a chunk of bread and holding out for Tadashi to eat.

 

Tadashi takes it delicately, tilting his head back to get it into his mouth. Kind of like a seagull, Hiro thinks as he hides a smile behind his hand. “I think she’s my Mrs Matsuda too, actually. I noticed her when I stopped by that one time. Gimme a bacon.”

 

“Alright, you big baby,” Hiro snorts, doing as he’s told. “I know she must be married, since she’s _Mrs_ Matsuda, but for some reason I never see her husband around. Open up.”

 

“Fankff.” Tadashi pauses for a second to swallow. “Anyway, he’s pretty nice. He’s easygoing enough that he doesn’t really mind me slacking once in a while. He knows I work more than one job, so he’s really forgiving. Oh, and he lets me spend my free time dicking around with his scraps.”

 

“Yeah? You into tinkering?”

 

“Nothing big. The most notable thing I remember was this dumb egg alarm clock thing that had a flower pop out after rolling around for two minutes. It was just a stupid thing to amuse their grandkid; oh, they have a granddaughter, Momo, she’s six.”

 

Hiro helps himself to Tadashi’s sandwich. “I’ll ask about her the next time I see Mrs Matsuda, sounds like Aunt Cass would love her. She likes cute things. So, who calls the shots around here, her or him? I’m guessing it’s her.”

 

“You’re not wrong. Mrs Matsuda handles the paperwork, mostly, and Mr Matsuda works with the cars. I don’t think she really likes getting her hands dirty, or her _outfits_ ,” Tadashi grins. He’s investigating a cup of yoghurt, now, stirring enthusiastically with the little plastic spoon and making chunks of strawberry disappear into pretty pink swirls. “Although I really admire her, uh, boldness. She looks better in leather than I do.” Chuckling, he lifts the spoon to his lips, sticking it into his mouth with a soft hum of appreciation and letting his eyes slide briefly shut.

 

 

 

Hiro realises at that point that he’s made a grave tactical error. He’d avoided the popsicle section for a reason, but, he realises as he watches Tadashi have a tiny gastronomical orgasm around a spoon, this is actually just as bad.

 

 

 

“Uh,” Hiro says, making a conscious effort to look Tadashi in the eyes and not in the, well, mouth. It’s very difficult. Hiro knows he’s already a little bit handicapped but this is, in fact, _very difficult._ Aunt Cass had always said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but this is really too much. Yoghurt’s nice, sure, but Tadashi doesn’t have to look so goddamned _rapturous_ about it, shit. Who even looks at someone else when they’re sucking on a spoon? Tadashi, evidently, because either he has no idea how he looks or he’s truly the devil himself.

 

Hiro’s throwing that spoon out the moment Tadashi has his back turned. It’s far too powerful.

 

Tadashi turns to look at him, and Hiro accidentally crushes the sandwich in his hands. “Hand me a bite – are you okay?”

 

“Peachy,” Hiro laughs nervously, tearing off another (far too large) chunk of sandwich and popping it into his own mouth. Tadashi makes fishlips at him, and Hiro swallows his food without chewing so he can feed Tadashi the last bit of the BLT. His thumb brushes the man’s lips purely to wipe away stray crumbs, not because he’s being a creeper or anything (actually, no, he is).

 

“You’re not looking too hot. You should try to sleep more.”

 

“I get a healthy six to fourteen hours a night,” Hiro mumbles in response. Tadashi’s scraping the bottom of his yoghurt, looking a little put-out. Against his better judgement, Hiro hands him the other yoghurt pot. He brightens up almost instantly, and Hiro thinks that it’s actually pretty cute how easy Tadashi is to please, even if it does mean Hiro’s subject to him fellating a spoon again.

 

 _Jesus, I’m weak,_ he thinks to himself as Tadashi licks a spot of apricot jelly from the corner of his mouth. _I’m so, so weak._

 

“So how was your week?”

 

Hiro almost chokes on a tomato slice. “G-great! Totally boring, you know how school sucks – how school _drags on_ sometimes, ahahaha. Uh. Finals are coming up in a few weeks, so gotta study for those.”

 

“Ugh.” Tadashi wrinkles his nose around another mouthful of yoghurt playfully, tapping his spoon against his lower lip in a way that makes Hiro swallow. “I don’t miss doing exams.”

 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s stressful, I guess, but, I dunno, I’m pretty cool with it. Everything I’m studying is really fun, but it’s also super difficult. It’s a nice change.”

 

“From?”

 

“High school.” Tearing his gaze from Tadashi’s mouth to open up the other sandwich instead, Hiro scoots back a little so he can cross his legs Indian-style. “I was bored of everything before I came to SFIT. Too easy. God, that makes me sound like a huge douche, doesn’t it?”

 

“Slightly,” Tadashi grins.

 

Hiro grins back. “Yeah, sorry. I skipped a couple grades, and, well. I wasn’t as cool as I am now, you know. I used to speak Japanese at home, so my English was terrible. And, I mean, imagine a nerdy ten-year-old surrounded by teenagers. That was my high school experience. It was…not fun. Not _terrible,_ but, well, I’m a lot happier where I am now. And I accidentally told you my life story, sorry about that.”

 

Tadashi regards him like he’s appraising him. “Is that why you started bot-fighting?”

 

They’re both quiet for a minute. Hiro chews on his chicken salad slowly, wishing he’d bothered to check the packets properly so he’d have been able to pick one up with mayo instead. “Sometimes things are too easy and too hard at the same time, and you feel like you’re going to run screaming out of your own skin unless you _do_ something. In one situation your big brain gets you picked on, and in the other, _you_ get to be the bully. It’s…better. Even if it means you might get your neck snapped in half one day. Or maybe because of it, I don’t know.”

 

Tadashi doesn’t respond. Hiro freezes, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and risks a peek to the side. Tadashi’s staring at him with some mix of disbelief and pity, and Hiro feels his ears flush red and warm.

 

 

 

 

“A-anyway! D’you wanna see Megabot?” he says a little shrilly, snatching his robot off the bench and almost thrusting it into Tadashi’s chest. “I built him myself, see? He’s small, but he packs a real punch, kinda like those chilies, you know, the really tiny ones? He’s got a custom-built controller, too, but I didn’t bring that with me today. If you’re interested in learning how to bot fight, I’ll let you take him for a spin.”

 

Tadashi sets his yoghurt pot down – _it’s empty, how quickly does this guy eat? –_ and holds the robot up to the light to inspect it properly. He tugs at a leg, frowning slightly as Hiro anxiously watches on. “What are these? Magnetic bearing servos?”

 

“Mhm. I can show you how I put him together, if you want. I mean, you probably already know, but I had a little extra help with these,” he smiles tentatively. “I’ve got one hell of a lecturer.”

 

Tadashi raises an eyebrow. “Your lecturer is a fan of bot fighting?”

 

“No, but he _is_ a fan of magnetic bearing servos. He invented them.”

 

Tadashi’s eyes widen almost comically. “No. Robert Callgahan? _The_ Robert Callaghan is teaching you? As in, Callaghan’s Laws of Robotics? _That_ Callaghan?”

 

“The one and the same.” Hiro’s smile feels a little more natural now that he’s on familiar ground. He lets his chest puff out a little for show, Tadashi’s borderline awe-struck expression making him kind of want to laugh. “He keeps saying he’s ‘just a regular old man’, but, y’know.”

 

“What’s he like?” Tadashi’s leaning forward now, chin resting on his hand and the other arm resting across his knees. “I heard he was in the military for a while.”

 

“Yeah. It shows, sometimes; like, he’s terrifyingly punctual, and also sort of strict on a lot of weird things. Like reports, and he likes everything to be all tidy and uniform. But he also wears these awful sweater-vests and gets chalk dust everywhere. One time he put his glasses on his head and then spent ten minutes looking for them, although I kind of think he was just doing that so we’d feel comfortable with him. Oh, but he namedrops without really thinking about it. He mentions Alastair Krei almost as much as he talks about his own daughter.”

 

Tadashi smiles. “That sounds _amazing_.”

 

 _He’s what I think a dad must be like._ Hiro keeps this to himself, though. Instead he takes the robot back, rubbing his thumb gently over its toothy smile. “I think you’d like it there. At SFIT, I mean.”

 

“I think I would.”

 

Hiro glances up. Tadashi’s looking at Hiro’s fingers, expression soft around the edges, mouth a little sad. It’s easier to look at him now that Tadashi’s not looking back, now that he’s messy and hunched over and dressed in dirty clothes with his hair askew and dark circles under his eyes. It’s less like looking at the sun, and more like looking at something he can reach out and touch. Something he’d _like_ to reach out and touch, if he could, if only to smooth out the crease between Tadashi’s eyebrows with the pad of his thumb the way he’s doing to Megabot.

 

But he can’t. So he keeps his hands to himself and drops his gaze, thinking of the angry face hiding inside his robot’s head. “You want to go there.”

 

“…yeah,” says Tadashi quietly. “Yeah, I really, really do.”

 

Hiro stays silent. For a second he’s tempted to just _give_ Megabot to Tadashi when he leaves, some misguided token of…something. Acknowledgement, maybe, because Tadashi doesn’t deserve this, whatever _this_ is. Or maybe Hiro’s hoping that this stupid mass of metal and wires might make Tadashi happy, even if it’s only a little bit, even if it’s only for five minutes. It would be worth it, probably. It’d be doing more good than swindling thugs out of their cash.

 

But that’s stupid. What’s Tadashi going to do with a two-faced robot that only knows how to break things?

 

Something brushes Hiro’s cheek. Hiro blinks as he turns; Tadashi’s got his hand outstretched, the backs of his knuckles having just grazed Hiro’s face for no reason he can discern. Tadashi offers him a lopsided grin, hand hovering uncertainly around Hiro’s chin.

 

“You had something on you,” he says, although the expression on his face makes it seem like he doesn’t quite believe this himself. Somewhere in the back of Hiro’s mind, he hears Fred rapping on his skull, telling him that _he’s got a big brain in here, and it’s about time he started using it._

 

So he stays where he is, instead of backing away to safety like he’d normally do. Very, very slowly, he tilts his head closer, letting Tadashi’s fingers gently poke against his skin.

 

Tadashi smiles a little helplessly. “You know, I can’t remember when you stopped being a dorky customer and started being just ‘Hiro’.”

 

Hiro breathes a tiny huff of laughter. “That’s funny, because I remember _exactly_ when you went from ‘Sunfire’ to ‘Tadashi’.”

 

 

 

He doesn’t...remember being this close, though. He doesn’t remember their knees touching, and he doesn’t remember being able to see where Tadashi’s stubble is starting to grow. He _does_ remember that Tadashi doesn’t seem to own a Chapstick, and that he has a tendency to use his teeth. And he remembers what it's like to be pressed between a wall and another person, warm mouth on his and fingers tracing the knobs of his spine.

 

He remembers all of it, but, well. He could do with some refreshing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A door slams open not ten feet away, and Hiro miraculously drops both Megabot and the remainder of his sandwich onto his left foot. Tadashi, meanwhile, jumps half out of his skin and narrowly misses falling flat onto his ass.

 

A short, balding man blinks at them myopically from the doorway of the employee lounge. His shirt is only half tucked-in, although he doesn’t personally seem to notice. “Who’s this?”

 

Hiro clutches his foot and whimpers in lieu of answering. Tadashi wrings his hands and stands up.

 

“S-sorry, boss! This is just a friend of mine, he brought me some stuff since I forgot my lunch at home. Did you, uh. Did you need me for something?”

 

“I was going to ask if you wanted some _soba,_ since the missus packed too much. Your friend can have some too, if he wants.”

 

“No thank you,” Hiro wheezes. Tadashi winces in sympathy.

 

“Thanks, sir, but I’m good.”

 

“Oh.” Mr Matsuda considers them both, package of food still held aloft like a lantern. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m putting them in the fridge. You can microwave ‘em if you need to. I don’t think anyone else is coming in for a while, so you can take your time.”

 

“Thank you,” Tadashi says.

 

“Thank you,” echoes Hiro unhappily.

 

Mr Matsuda nods to himself and turns to toddle back to his food. “You fellas have fun, then, and don’t forget I won’t be in tomorrow, Tada – what did your friend call you just now? Was that a nickname?”

 

“…yes,” says Hiro falteringly. From here he can actually see the blood drain from Tadashi’s face. “Yes. Sometimes I call him Sun…flower. Because he’s. Very pretty.”

 

“He is?”

 

“I am,” Tadashi says, discreetly stepping on Hiro’s injured foot. Hiro’s smile tightens into a grimace. “I like to think I brighten up Hiro’s life, sir. I’m also much taller than he is, despite my delicate good looks.”

 

“By, like, _three inches,”_ Hiro says, elbowing Tadashi’s ribs under the pretense of fondly bumping into his side. “And yet, so much _wider_ than your average flower, too.”

 

Mr Matsuda’s expression is serene. “I remember horsing around with my friends the same way, when I was a young ‘un. Boys used to call me ‘Mattie’ instead of ‘Matsuda’. You know, like Matt Damon? It was right after we’d seen _Saving Private Ryan --”_

 

“Phone’s ringing, sir,” Tadashi hides a smile, retaliating only slightly when Hiro pinches his arm. The landline’s chiming obnoxiously from somewhere in the clutter, and Mr Matsuda sighs theatrically before making an attempt to answer.

 

“That’s probably the missus calling. Remind me to tell you that story sometime, Tadashi, it’s a good one. Or would you prefer the nickname?

 

“Please don’t, sir, ‘Tadashi’ is fine--”

 

“—but nowhere near as good as _Sunflower,_ Mr Matsuda, he really likes that--”

 

“I remember I wouldn’t answer to anything else when I was in school, confused the hell out of my parents,” Mr Matsuda continues, clearly not listening even as he migrates back to the phone. “Oh, but I’m rambling, I’d better go answer before she pitches a fit. Hates it when I don’t pick up, she does. Help yourself to the _soba,_ Hiro, Sunflower. Yes, dear, what is it?”

 

Mr Matsuda shuts the door behind him. Hiro’s halfway across the garage before Tadashi can wring his neck.

 

“Nice going, asshole. Now he’s going to keep calling me that forever,” Tadashi says flatly, looking for all the world like he’s ready to jump over the car between them and bonk Hiro on the head.

 

Hiro giggles. “Don’t be like that, _Sunflower._ It’s a cute name, I think it suits you.”

 

Tadashi snorts. “It suits you more than me. You ever read _Alice in Wonderland?_ The part where they mistake her for a flower ‘cause she’s got that messy hair? That’s you.” He tosses his oil rag in Hiro’s general direction, although it goes sailing over his head instead.

 

He’s smiling, though, so Hiro deems it safe to come out from behind the safety of the barrier and let his hair be ruffled. “If you think this is bad, you should have seen me at fourteen. At least now I can pretend this is a _style._ Or that it’s intentional, at least. _”_

 

“I’m surprised things don’t get lost in here,” Tadashi says mildly, picking through Hiro’s hair like a monkey looking for fleas until Hiro swats him away. “Say, next time how ‘bout you bring me a _bento_?”

 

Hiro splutters. “I’m not making you a _bento,_ who am I, your mother?”

 

“I never said _you_ had to make it. Ask your aunt, she’s a good cook, right?”

 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Hiro sniffs, pulling away to collect Megabot and possibly also hide the stupid grin his face is making him wear. “You like older women, huh, scoundrel? I’ll protect her from you. In fact I’m going home right now to warn her.”

 

“What, really?” Tadashi comes over to pick the remains of the sandwich off the floor, dropping it into Hiro’s discarded plastic bag with a soft huff. “You’re going home?”

 

“It’s been an hour,” Hiro points at the large round clock hung on the wall. “Also, I think your manager gave me a mini heart attack, it might be worth going to the hospital.”

 

Tadashi whistles at the clock. “Shit. Guess time really flies, huh? You have something to do?”

 

“Yeah, I help out at the café when it gets busy, so I should probably head home,” Hiro shrugs. It’s not _really_ a lie, but Aunt Cass hadn’t actually said anything about needing him today. “I’ll bring you that _bento_ sometime if I’m feeling magnanimous. See you ‘round, ‘Dashi.”

 

“You called me soup.”

 

“It’s better than ‘Sunflower’,” Hiro sing-songs.

 

 

 

 

Tadashi shakes his head at him and Hiro waves, Megabot in one hand and the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He’s glad he didn’t bring the hoodie today, because he’s feeling unusually warm.

 

He tugs the beanie more securely over his head and squints in the sunlight when he gets through the doors. Tadashi’s still watching him when Hiro turns around, so Hiro gives him another little wave and jogs off in the direction of the trams. He can almost feel the other man’s eyes on him, and even though the thought makes him shiver pleasantly, the pull of home is much stronger than the pull of the garage.

 

So close. He’d been so _close._

 

He’s lost his nerve, now. But this is something; nothing _definitive,_ but a clue. Tadashi’s not repulsed by him, at the very least. Hiro’s not sure if he wants to push his luck, but the man doesn’t hate him. Maybe he even _likes_ him, because he’d talked about them meeting again like he hadn’t even thought about it, and he’d touched Hiro’s face like he was something fragile. Precious. Not like a one night stand he never wanted to talk to again.

 

The tram’s early, and Hiro runs to catch it. He swings himself onto it just as it starts to move and plops onto a seat, fiddling with his robot and feet tapping an uncoordinated rhythm on the floor. An old lady eyes him disapprovingly and he smiles sheepishly at her, although it’s physically impossible to stop the jitters now they’ve started. His heart’s beating fast, but it’s not just because of Mr Matsuda’s untimely entrance.

 

_Jesus, I’m weak._

 

_...but this is actually kind of awesome._

 

 

 

He considers the yellow smiley on his robot’s face. Exactly on the other side is a version in angry red, present only when Hiro’s wreaking havoc and breaking the law.

 

He was right. Tadashi would have no use for this.

 

 

 

 _Hiro,_ on the other hand, just might.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i have a lot of feelings about callaghan ok
> 
> quality is inversely proportional to quantity in this fic, and, my spacing is terrible. also, i referenced an RP i was doing with annie in several spots. annie is great.
> 
> 'sunflower' was the product of an adorable commenter who made an even more adorable typo. 'everything is meaningless and we all die' is sini's fault.
> 
> I tried to write about half of this chapter with windows speech to text, but it didn’t work out. It didn’t understand me. I’m already incomprehensible as it is, I don’t need any help from a software that seems to be trying to interpret what I’m saying with its fingers in its ears. 
> 
> If the couple tunnel from even (which is what it assumes I mean by, ‘guess it’s carpal tunnel for me, then’).
> 
> FRIENDS PLS. PLS. LOOK AT THIS FANART. GAZE UPON THE VISUAL REPRESENTATION OF [ THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THIS FIC](http://bennefrosting-the-world.tumblr.com/tagged/dirty-%28when-done-right%29). PLS LOOK AT IT AND SHOWER IT WITH THE LOVE AND ATTENTION IT DESERVES. 
> 
>  
> 
> ok so listen. listen. i really like situations in which you subvert what's expected. kitten and i were talking about this a while ago. think of, like, A/B/O dynamics. except with Alpha Hiro and Omega Tadashi. I mean, try to imagine this little angry Chihuahua of a boy, vibrating in rage before he launches himself at someone’s face and tries to bite it. And Tadashi, the gentle giant, plods after him with a long-suffering sigh…hiro, no, don’t pick fights with people bigger than you…hiro you can’t lift that by yourself…why cant we all just get along…
> 
> It’s even funnier if you imagine hiro never growing any taller than tadashi. Just, this tiny alpha with a napoleon complex, and tadashi trying not to laugh about it. 
> 
> ‘oh, tadashi, your boyfriend is an omega too? That’s cool, r u a gay’
> 
> ‘no…my boyfriend’s an alpha…just…a very small alpha….’
> 
> Hiro from the other side of the room: wHO JUST CALLED ME SMALL I HEARD THAT IM GONNA BITE YOU
> 
>  
> 
> i'm very invested in this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean I haven't updated in a month! Didn't I say I was busy (doing nothing at all)!

 

 

By the time Hiro’s finished all his blueprints, he’s not quite sure he can tell if these are pencil smudges on his face or eyebrows.

 

His bed is a distant, foggy memory. So distant he can only imagine what it must feel like to wrap himself in the sheets, to be able to shut his eyes and fall into a world of dreams. It’s a distant memory that’s literally right there in his bedroom, actually, but he turns away from it in favour of zooming across the floor in his desk chair. He bumps into his closet, and spins around so he can rifle through the pile of clean laundry he’s dumped into it. Baseball shirt-thing? The actual shirt is white, but its sleeves are blue, for some reason. Doesn’t matter. It’s clean, anyway, as are the skinnies Hiro wriggles into before snatching up a pair of sneakers and running downstairs.

 

He doubles back to get his wallet and phone. Can’t pay for bus fare with rolled-up schematics, not that he’d want to after slaving over them for five days straight. The café is bustling with the usual afternoon crowd as he rockets to the kitchens to steal a couple of muffins that didn’t make the cut, and he’s out the door and running to the bus stand before his aunt can say a word. He bites into one and bounces on the balls of his feet right up until his bus _finally_ shows up to take him to his destination.

 

He’s twitchy all the way there. Adrenaline’ll do that to a guy, and Hiro’s got a _lot_ of it. There might be more Red Bull than blood in his system at this point, although that’s hardly something new. Tadashi’s garage comes into view after an agonizing twenty minutes, and Hiro’s off the bus before it can actually roll to a stop.

 

“Tadashi! Tadashi, are you here? _”_ he bursts in, muffin in one hand and blueprints in the other, held aloft like he’s an athlete waiting to light the fire for the Olympics. Tadashi, bending over to inspect the engine of an old pick-up, jerks upright and hits his head on the underside of the hood.

 

“Hiro? What -- why are you yelling? What happened?”

 

“You need to see this!”

 

“A muffin?”

 

“No, but it’s blueberry, you can have it.” Hiro skids to a halt right next to him and the schematics are thrust into Tadashi’s possession rather than given to him civilly. “Look!” he adds, probably someone redundantly considering that the paper is being shoved at Tadashi’s face and is realistically all he can see at this point.

 

Tadashi takes it and sighs. “What is this? My hands are kinda dirty, are you – are you okay? You look a little off. When was the last time you slept?”

 

Hiro pauses. “Friday?”

 

Tadashi frowns at him. “It’s Wednesday.”

 

Hiro flaps a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter, god, just _look_ at this, will you, you’re gonna love it. It’s _awesome._ Look, just,” he hands over the muffin and takes his schematics away from Tadashi impatiently, reaching up to pull the hood of the car down so he can unroll his paper on top of it. “ _Look._ See? Ta-dah!”

 

Tadashi blinks at the muffin, blinks at the paper, and then blinks at Hiro. “It’s a…mechanical spider?”

 

Hiro rolls his eyes. “It’s a _battle bot._ Look, I – listen. Do you know what bot fighting is?”

 

“Illegal?”

 

“No, _betting_ on bot fighting is illegal, we’ve been through this. But it’s also _lucrative._ Really, really lucrative. And if you get real good at hustling, you can make a _lot_ of money. I’ve been hustling for a while, now, and people are starting to get to know me. But nobody knows _you_. You can take on the mantel, my friend. You can be the next big thing in the San Fransokyo bot figting scene.”

 

Tadashi stares at him for a second, eyebrow raised. “You want me to become a con artist to make you money.”

 

Hiro takes him by the shoulders. “No, I want you to become a con artist to make _you_ money. See, the thing about bot fighting is that if you’ve got a good bot and good skills and good business sense, then you’re pretty much set. You don’t have to get to international level, but you can make a decent amount of money if you keep going long enough. And luckily for _you,_ I happen to have both good business sense and good skills. And _this,_ ” he says, jabbing his finger on his blueprints, “happens to be a good _bot.”_

 

Tadashi slowly turns his head to take another look at Hiro’s schematics, this time features beginning to soften with understanding. Almost in wonder, he reaches out to trace his fingers over pencil drawings that could be neater, mouth moving silently as he goes over Hiro’s notes. “The legs are…weapons?”

 

“Precision instruments,” Hiro beams, swaying a little on his feet. The adrenaline’s starting to wear off, which is a shame. “I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who likes smashing heads together, so I went with a more subtle approach. See, the spider starts off as a ball, right, which is mostly defensive. This eye right here could be a camera, if you think it’ll be useful. But the legs come out like _so_ when you need them,” he says, pointing to the drawing in the left corner. “And they’re more like pistons than legs. You know how physics works, right, higher pressure when you have a tiny surface area? So the legs are kinda needle-y, right, so that means that all you have to learn is how to control this bad boy, and you’ll be able to pick other robots apart like you’re using chopsticks. I also thought about an electric web thing, but I don’t know if that’s overkill. What d’you think?”

 

It almost looks like Tadashi doesn’t hear him, because he’s studying the schematics with his head bowed. Hiro observes the furrow of his brow and the way he taps his fingers against the things he’s looking at in detail, careful not to leave smudges of oil behind. His old band t-shirt is stained in a couple of places, which makes sense considering that most of the cars in the shop today have their hoods down, a sign that Tadashi’s finished with them and they’re ready to go. Hiro’s gaze rakes over the curve of Tadashi’s back as he bends to read something. He’d very much like to curl up against that back and go to sleep.

 

Tadashi looks up at him, eyes wide like he’s not quite sure what’s happening. Understandable, really, considering Hiro’d just barged in with a muffin and blueprints for a battle bot with no other explanation. “Hiro, you _designed_ this? Is this…did you do this for me?”

 

Hiro looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Well, obviously. I’ve got a battle bot of my own, you know. This one is yours.”

 

Tadashi still looks lost. “ _Why?”_

 

“ _Because._ It’s better than working two jobs and you said yourself that it’s really tough, right? I mean maybe you like being a mechanic and maybe you like being a, y’know, the other thing, but doing both at the same time can’t be easy. I could build you this, and then you can try out something that’s a lot less effort. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

 

“Okay, but _why?_ Why, out of the blue? Why bot fighting, of all things? And how did you even know I’d be here?”

 

Hiro shuffles his feet. “I might have run into Mrs Matsuda at the café and asked her what your working hours were. Look, never mind all that, I keep telling you that bot fighting is lucrative and fun and you’re obviously good with machines,” Hiro says, gesturing around the garage. “And no offense or anything but I think you’re also pretty familiar with the seedier parts of town,” he adds, voice lowered. “This’ll be easy for you. I’m just asking you to give it a shot.”

 

“But this isn’t – this looks like you put a lot of work into it, Hiro, what makes you think it’ll be worth it?”

 

“Losing a little sleep is no big deal,” Hiro says, doing a complicated little wrist movement as he talks. “Anyway, it’s already done. So how about you consider it, huh? Come to a bot fight, you can see what it’s all about. Take in the atmosphere, watch me obliterate the competition, learn the ropes a little --”

 

“–get chased by yakuza--”

 

“They are _not_ yakuza,” Hiro retorts. “Look, there’s a match this Friday. It’s pretty small-scale, so Yama won’t be there. The players will mostly be beginners and the stakes will be low. It’ll be a good first look. It’s at around eight p.m., and it’ll last like two hours, so you can probably come before your other job. It’s not too far away from where you work, either. You don’t have to do anything, just watch me. What do you say?”

 

Tadashi purses his lips. He hesitates for a long time, but between Hiro’s face and the complicated designs spread out over the hood of a red pick-up truck, his resolve visibly crumbles. “Fine,” he eventually sighs, making Hiro pump his fist in victory. “But _no guarantees,_ okay? I’m not sure about getting into this stuff. And no more losing sleep over me,” he says, jabbing his finger at the paper. “Ask me before you start a big project like this. You have a life, you can’t be wasting time on building me things.”

 

“It’s not a waste of time, you’ll see,” Hiro grins, grabbing Tadashi’s free hand in earnest and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’ll be _amazing,_ just wait. Oh man, this is gonna be _so cool,_ you get to see me in action – okay. Meet me at eight in front of where you work? I’ll take you to the match. It’s a short walk, we’ll be there in no time. Oh, and, I probably don’t need to tell you this, but try to dress like you mean business. Not in business _attire,_ more like, you wanna look like people can’t push you around.”

 

Tadashi snorts and ruffles Hiro’s bedhead into even worse bedhead. “You mean like you, pipsqueak?”

 

“Hey, I’ll have you know I grew, like, two inches this month. I can see over my Aunt’s head, now.”

 

“Soon you’ll be able to get on the grown-up rides at the park,” Tadashi says off-handedly, finally taking a bite of his muffin. He eats it from the top, for some reason, instead of peeling off the wrapping and going at it from the side like he should. “Store-bought?”

 

“From my aunt’s café. I stole one of the ones that wasn’t pretty enough to be sold. ‘S why it’s a little lop-sided, but it’s still good,” Hiro says, discretely eyeing the bob of Tadashi’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.

 

“It is,” Tadashi hums in agreement. He pauses, for a second, expression a strange mix of thoughtful and…sad? Not quite, but close, which makes Hiro tilt his head in confusion because Tadashi may soon be in possession of his very first battle bot and that is the exact opposite of a reason to be sad.

 

He reaches out to Hiro, seeming for a second to want to touch his face, but thinking the better of it at the last minute and redirecting his hand into a friendly pat on the shoulder instead. “I – thanks. You really didn’t have to, and I wasn’t expecting it, but it’s really sweet.”

 

“It’s just a muffin.”

 

“I’m talking about the _battle bot,_ knucklehead,” Tadashi rolls his eyes, taking his hand off Hiro’s shoulder even though he’s still smiling. “First sandwiches, and now this. You trying to buy my friendship?”

 

Well _that_ hits a little close to home. Smiling back weakly, Hiro shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck nervously. The pull of sleep is hard to ignore, now that he’s achieved his objective. “Depends. Is it working?”

 

Tadashi’s face softens. “You know that you don’t have to, right? We’re friends. I don’t need anything more than that.”

 

“Yeah, I know, my presence is a gift, that’s why it’s called me being _present,”_ Hiro says flippantly, stuffing both hands in his pockets and barely managing not to yawn. “Speaking of, I’ll see you on Friday, yeah? I spent all day at school and my bed’s really calling to me right now. Eight o’clock, outside the club, don’t bring any valuables. Don’t forget, alright?”

 

“I won’t,” Tadashi says, taking another bite and waving as Hiro walks backwards, towards the exit. “I hope this is worth it.”

 

“Any time spent with me is worth it, Sunflower.”

 

“If you call me that in public, I’m not gonna go with you.”

 

“Only in private, then,” Hiro grins, spinning on his heel and all but skipping out the door. He calls a goodbye over his shoulder and bounces onto the pavement that’s starting to become pretty familiar, already envisioning an afternoon of blissful sleep in the patch of sun that likes to filter in through the window by his bed.

 

He’ll see Tadashi at the bot fight. If Hiro has his way, he’ll be seeing Tadashi at a _lot_ of bot fights.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Tadashi, thankfully, is punctual.

 

He’s leaning against the club doors, which are silent and closed. Hiro jogs over to meet him. Tadashi’s dressed in dark colours, just as Hiro said, looking for all the world like he could blend into the background at a moment’s notice.

 

Hiro’s bright red hoodie must be flashy in comparison, to be honest, but that’s not going to be a problem. It’s unlikely that he’s going to have to run away from angry bot fighters; they’re going to be betting small, since they’re mostly beginners, and Hiro’s not interested in scamming anyone tonight. Tonight is for teaching Tadashi the ins and outs of robot battles. Besides, having another person with him this time makes him seem at least three times more intimidating. He’s less of a target with a six-foot guy standing behind him, even if Tadashi isn’t particularly broad.

 

Hiro gives him an affectionate headbutt in lieu of greeting. Tadashi ruffles his hair and steps away from the doors, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and following as Hiro leads the way to the outskirts of the red light district. Hiro hands him a croissant.

 

Tadashi bites into it and falls into step beside him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to fix me with some sort of Pavlovian reflex. Like, making me associate you with baked goods so I get excited every time I see you and I don’t know why.”

 

Hiro suppresses a smile, because Tadashi’s not exactly _wrong._ “You can’t give chocolate to dogs, though.”

 

“Chocolate is a good thing to put into a croissant,” Tadashi agrees. He looks a little less tired than Hiro’s used to seeing him, although Hiro can’t tell if it’s secret excitement at seeing a bot fight or just because he’s caught Tadashi before work this time instead of after. He hopes it’s the former.

 

“You should try it in a tort, it’s even better.”

 

“What’s a tort?”

 

“How do you not know what a tort is?”

 

“I’m just a lowly mechanic-slash-stripper,” Tadashi says good-naturedly. “One day I’ll be rich and cultured like a full-fat yoghurt, but until then I guess a croissant is the fanciest thing I’m gonna put in my mouth.”

 

Hiro refrains from making a dick joke. They round a corner into a back alley between several late-night restaurants, although they’re all still bustling with people looking for a quick dinner. A rusty blue door that might have been cheerful once is barely illuminated by a lantern, and Hiro checks his phone for the address even though he’s pretty sure that this must be the place. “It’s no Fujita’s, but watch your pockets,” he says over his shoulder as he knocks three times on the door. “And if anyone talks to you, don’t be polite. You’re not about to make any friends in a place like this.”

 

 

 

A woman with very long blonde hair and a very short kimono opens the door and squints up at them. Hiro holds up Megabot and the woman shrugs, stepping aside so they can pick their way around the empty beer bottles and mysterious puddles on the floor. The lights are dim and the floors cement. It’s more of a basement than an arena, and the only source of light is the naked bulb suspended above the chalk circle in the middle of the room. There aren’t many people around, seeing as this is a small-scale operation, but there are already two opponents settling their robots in the ring and putting their money in the plastic betting tray. A bigger tray is going around the audience. Hiro passes it along without putting any money into it.

 

The first three fights are dull, as one would expect from a group of beginners. Their bots are fairly constructed, but execution is poor and Hiro spends the match muttering to Tadashi, pointing out mistakes and openings and where each fighter could have done better. Tadashi nods along with calculating eyes, closely following the movements of each robot until he’s able to make suggestions of his own. He’s a fast learner. Hiro would be impressed if he were able to properly focus on Tadashi’s words instead of the feeling of having them murmured into his ear.

 

A dark-skinned girl in a parka seats herself on one side of the circle. Her robot is interesting; a centipede, by the looks of it, constructed out of scrap metal, seemingly of different materials even though the finishing is decent. Hiro raises his bot when the call for an opponent is made. “Normally I’d lose on purpose to trick her into betting more the second time around, but this time I’ll fight fair. Watch how I do things, okay?” he says to Tadashi before stepping into his corner of the ring, watching Tadashi move around so he’s in front of Hiro instead of behind him.

 

 

 

He makes himself comfortable, body language relaxed, not bothering to put on the innocent act. It probably won’t work, anyway, because the girl’s eyeing Megabot with distrust from under her hood. Hiro decides not to play coy. Megabot’s upright and angry from the get-go, and Hiro slides his controller into advanced mode even before the blonde announcer calls for the start of the fight.

 

The centipede’s pincers go for the joints, just as Hiro thought they would; Hiro separates Megabot into three and manages to tear off the end segment of the opponent’s robot before she has a chance to get out of the way.

 

She catches on surprisingly quickly, though. The next attack goes straight for Megabot’s red face – she’s given up trying to go for his weak spots, then, deciding instead to stab rather than trying to cut him into little pieces. That could be a problem. The pincers look like they’re made of carbon fibre, and Megabot’s magnetic steel shell won’t survive precise, high-pressure blows. Tadashi’s bot had been designed on the same principles, after all.

 

He dances around the centipede and thinks. He’ll have to be fast; _dodge and tear before she gets you,_ he decides, pulling Megabot back to a safe distance to regroup before he can crush the centipede’s head.

 

Unfortunately for him, it looks like losing part of her bot has put her on the defensive. The centipede curls up into a tight ball in the middle of the ring, and Hiro huffs in frustration, realizing abruptly that he can’t attack the centipede’s joints if it’s curled like that. Punching the shell doesn’t seem to do any damage, either. It must have armoured plates, then, and he’s not going to be able to get through them with Megabot’s weak striking ability. She keeps darting out to snap at him, too, which is extremely annoying, and he cartwheels his robot around the edge for a good few seconds, chewing at the inside of his cheek and tapping his thumbs against his controller.

 

He glances up. Tadashi’s gaze is focused on him. _Come on,_ he mouths, and Hiro watches his lips move. _Think. New angle. You can do it._

 

He _can,_ actually. This may be the longest match he’s had in a while, but it isn’t necessarily a stalemate. Disassembling Megabot into three again, he flips the pieces back to the centipede, surrounding its curled-up body and wincing a little as the pincers catch Megabot’s middle bit and manage to puncture a hole in it.

 

Megabot may not be strong enough to break through the armour, but his magnetic-bearing servos are. He jabs at the controller and sets its magnetic field to ‘attract’; Megabot’s damaged pieces pull closer together, trapping the centipede spiral between them and crushing it slowly as they attempt to attach to each other.

 

She figures out what he’s doing a little too late. The centipede’s pincers are flattened into the rest of its body, and Hiro doesn’t let up even as her frantic stabbing of buttons makes the poor robot twitch. Its shell cracks with a screechy _crunch_ of metal, and she drops her controller in frustration when her centipede no longer responds to her instructions.

 

Hiro is declared the winner. He gathers his modest earnings with a smile at his opponent; it’s genuine, this time, not cocky or smug. She’d done well, especially for a beginner, and he calls out a polite _good game_ as she gathers her robot forlornly. She nods at him from across the ring. She’s studying Megabot pretty intently, too, Hiro notices. He might be seeing her in the ring again sometime.

 

 

 

He practically _bounces_ back to Tadashi, nerves buzzing with excitement. Tadashi grins and he grins back; his was the last match of the day, and he bumps their shoulder together as they make their way out the doors, progress slow because everyone seems to be trying to leave at once. “Did you see that? That was so _cool,_ right? Her bot’s a little bit like the one I designed for you. Megabot’s special, but I think that sort of concept would work out really well for you in the ring. Are you convinced yet?”

 

“I don’t know.” Tadashi seems to be eyeing the other patrons, drawing closer to Hiro automatically as a very large man looks them both up and down. The cool night air comes as a relief, and Tadashi straightens his back and wraps an arm around Hiro’s middle, glaring back. The man shuffles off. “I’ll admit that was fun, but I’m not too happy about the kind of crowd that comes to these things, Hiro. I still think this is sketchy.”

 

“But _look,”_ Hiro says, waving his little wad of cash until Tadashi hisses at him to put it away before they get mugged. “Granted, I had to put in a little more effort today, and now I have to fix Megabot, but it’s not even usually this difficult, and you can earn a _lot_ more than this. It’s like I said about the business sense -- a few minute’s work and a convincing act and you can say bye-bye to having two jobs! Hell, you could go full-time, even!”

 

“Yeah, up until I get killed,” Tadashi grumbles as Hiro takes the opportunity to lean into his side. “These people are _thugs._ I might have broken a few noses in my time--”

 

“—you have?--”

 

“—but that doesn’t mean I want to do it on the regular.” His voice is almost lost amongst the chatter of the other patrons filtering away, but it’s infinitely better to be heading out into the main street than it was to be cramped in that basement that smelled of cigarette smoke and booze. “Anyway, what if I’m not any good? Won’t I lose more money than I earn?”

 

“Not when you have me as a mentor,” Hiro says cheerfully, body still warm and bubbly from his recent victory (and from the solid, masculine warmth pressed protectively against his side). “I’m probably the best bot fighter in San Fransokyo. You literally can’t go wrong.”

 

Tadashi frowns as they cross the street. He gives somebody else the stinkeye. “Right up until you get yourself arrested,” he mutters under his breath.

 

Hiro laughs at him. “Please, I’ve been doing this for _years.”_

 

 

 

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been quite so surprised when the cop cars pulled up in front of them.

“Oh no,” says Tadashi, right before a set of shiny metal cuffs are slapped on his wrists.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It’s been a while since Hiro’s seen the inside of a holding cell.

 

It’s a bit more crowded than he remembers. Possibly because the last time he’d been caught was when he was first starting out, at around fourteen. This time around he’s not so lucky; he’s squeezed into a corner with about twenty other people over the age of eighteen, Tadashi included. Hiro is sort of glad that he’s crushed against the bars. Being trapped between three people would make it harder for Tadashi to reach him and strangle him.

 

As it is, Tadashi’s glowering at him hard enough to make the back of Hiro’s neck break into cold sweat. The huge, bearded, tattooed man next to him is marginally less intimidating, and Hiro shuffles behind him for protection. It doesn’t work. The man takes one look at Tadashi’s face and steers Hiro back into the line of fire where he belongs.

 

At least they’ll have it on record if Tadashi actually does murder him. There’s a tired-looking policeman sitting at a desk some twenty feet away, playing solitaire or something on that ancient computer of his. They’ve been here for the better part of four hours. Long enough that Tadashi must have missed his shift at the strip club, which, unsurprisingly, is probably why he looks about ready to fight his way across the cell and shove his foot so far up Hiro’s ass that he’ll have toes stuck in the gap between his teeth.

 

Hiro does not attempt to maintain eye contact. Tadashi does; Hiro can _feel_ him glaring, and Hiro clutches at the bars and prays to the Buddha that Aunt Cass will rescue him before it’s too late.

 

She shows up at around a quarter past two, hair askew and bags under her eyes. Hiro feels guilty immediately; she doesn’t even really looked shocked anymore, only anxious as she taps her foot and waits for the holding cell to be unlocked so Hiro can stumble into freedom. He wheezes. He thinks he knows what it must be like to be a sardine.

 

Tadashi is ordered out of the cell as well. Their offense is relatively minor, so Hiro’s winnings for the night (which they hadn’t been able to prove had come from the bot fight, since no official records of these things tend to be kept) had been just enough to cover Tadashi’s bail. Hiro’s, on the other hand, will have to be worked off in the café. For a _long_ time, by the harried look that his aunt is giving him.

 

She takes in face in his hands to look him over. “God, _Hiro,_ sweetheart, what happened? Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Did they take anything?”

 

He sighs. “No, Aunt Cass. I’m okay.”

 

She looks about ready to cry. “Oh, thank _goodness,_ I was so worried – what were you _thinking,_ you knucklehead?” His ear is pinched with no mercy, and his head is yanked down to her level. She hasn’t cut her nails in a while. “I get a call in the middle of the night saying that you’ve gone and gotten arrested because you went out bot fighting? _Again?_ Do you have _any idea_ how scared I was? Do you think of your poor aunt when you go breaking the law? And who is _this?”_ she rounds on Tadashi. “Were you in on this?”

 

He gapes at her. “I – uh -- I didn’t--”

 

She grabs Tadashi’s ear for good measure. He has to double over to stop it from getting ripped off. “How old are you? Are you a friend of Hiro’s? Don’t you know that bot fighting is illegal? What on _earth_ do you think you were doing, young man?”

 

“Betting -- illegal,” says Tadashi weakly. Hiro does his absolute best not to laugh.

 

They’re dragged out of the station to the amusement of the guys still in the holding cell. Aunt Cass only releases them to dig through her purse for the keys to her truck, and Hiro rubs at his ear mournfully. Tadashi still looks a little shell-shocked. “Sorry, Aunt Cass. I love you.”

 

“Well I love you too!” she snaps, unlocking the door and clambering inside. She points a finger at Tadashi. “You! Where do you live?”

 

He blinks at her, wide-eyed and frightened. “Uh, downtown?”

 

“I’m not going that far,” she responds. “You’re spending the night with us. Now _get in._ I have to be up in six hours, you two felons. I’d better not have to open late because of you.”

 

Hiro dutifully climbs in through the passenger door. Tadashi stands there, still clutching his ear, mouth a little slack. Hiro leans out the door to whisper to him. “You’d better do as she says. She’s gonna pinch your ear again.”

 

Tadashi does as he’s told. He sits stiffly all the way to the café, perched on the edge of the seat like he’s ready to be thrown out. Aunt Cass rants for the entire drive, missing a turning in her distraction and cursing as she swerves around to get back onto the right road. Hiro discreetly buckles his seatbelt. Tadashi’s face turns white.

 

They make it home alive. Aunt Cass snatches a lone donut from one of the display stands and munches it furiously as she stomps upstairs, still complaining to the room at large. Mochi hops off of its perch on the fridge to rub at Tadashi’s ankles, and then waddles off upstairs to placate Hiro’s angry aunt.

 

 

 

 

Hiro sighs. Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, he turns around to apologise, although it’s very difficult to look Tadashi in the eye. “I, uh. Sorry. This was…not what I thought would happen.”

 

Tadashi’s disbelief settles into something stonier. “I could get _fired_ because of you. Not to mention that I have a criminal record now. I went to _jail.”_

 

“You went to _holding,_ there’s a difference!” Running his hands through his hair, Hiro clutches at his scalp and makes a soft noise of helplessness. “God, I’m _sorry._ I’m so, so sorry for getting you into trouble like this. But you weren’t convicted! It’s not gonna stay on your record, I promise. The police have a record but you’re not technically a felon. This time it was just a caution, so you’ll be safe.”

 

Tadashi narrows his eyes. “How do you even know this?”

 

Hiro chuckles nervously. “This might have happened to me once before.”

 

“You _said –_ unbelievable. Un- _fucking-_ believable. You took me into a bot fight and it just, what, slipped your mind that this sort of thing could happen? Even though it’s happened to you before and you didn’t tell me?”

 

“I told you, it’s not going on your record! This is a petty offence, you’re gonna be okay!”

 

“I missed _work_ because of you!” Tadashi puts his face in his hands. “God, I – I didn’t even give notice! They would have had to make the other dancers fill in for me last minute – I don’t even want to think about calling my boss back right now. I’m gonna get kicked out.”

 

Hiro looks crestfallen. “I thought you picked your own times on when to dance.”

 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that I can just disappear at a moment’s notice. They earn a commission from what _I_ earn. They’re not going to want a – they won’t want a worker who can’t even show up to work when he’s supposed to.”

 

“You can’t tell me you’ve never skipped work even _once,”_ Hiro cajoles. Tadashi’s face is half angry and half frantic, and Hiro instinctively takes a step backwards. Tadshi’s panic is starting to make _him_ panic; Tadashi might well never speak to him again, and Hiro doubts he’d be able to really ever forgive himself for causing the man to lose his job. “They can’t be _that_ unreasonable, Tadashi, it’s not like you skipped out for fun. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time and you got held up, it happens. I’m _sorry._ I fucked up, I know, I don’t want you to hate me, I,” he clutches at his hair. “This is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at _all.”_

 

“Yeah? What did you want, you – you -- _numbskull_?” Tadashi’s voice is high and slightly hysterical. “To rope me into your illegal hobbies so you’d have a buddy? Were _you_ hoping to make some cash off of me, too? I should have known your scheme wouldn’t work, this was a bad idea.”

 

Hiro’s shoulders sag. “That’s not what I wanted. It’s _not._ Look, I – I’m good for cash, okay? I’ve been fine on my own. You gotta believe me, I just thought, since it’s been working for me all this time, I figured it might work for you too. I wouldn’t spend all that time designing a bot just for you because I was hoping to make a quick buck, okay? At least cut me some slack.”

 

“ _Why?”_ Tadashi asks, clearly exasperated. “What about me looked like it needed saving? I’m doing just fine without any dumb get-rich-quick schemes, Hiro.”

 

“You said you wanted to get into SFIT,” says Hiro quietly. He’s staring at the floor.“I just…you looked so _happy_ when you were talking about it, you seemed so sad you couldn’t go, and – and you said it was too expensive, right? But you want to go, don’t you? I want you to go. I want you to come to SFIT with me because that’s what _you_ want, and I thought, I mean, I thought this could work, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore and – I’m _sorry,_ okay?” he looks up. “It was a dumb idea. I’m an idiot, and I got you in trouble but I didn’t _mean_ to. I just want you to be happy. And you can hate me and I probably deserve it, but please believe me. I just…I _really like_ you. I’m not trying to bribe you into liking me back. You deserve not to have to worry about everything. I wanted to give that to you. And I fucked up _royally._ Like I always do, when it comes to you.”

 

 

 

Tadashi’s face crumples. He says nothing, only making an aborted hand gesture, the same one he made when he’d looked like he’d wanted to touch Hiro’s face two days ago. They stand there staring at each other for a while, humiliation and guilt working themselves into the spaces between Hiro’s ribs.

 

Tadashi’s hand touches his shoulder. He thinks at first that Tadashi’s going to throttle him, but instead the hand stays where it is, squeezing gently. “I didn’t mean it about you bribing me into liking you. I get that you’re not trying to do that.”

 

Hiro says nothing. Tadashi sighs and lets go, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The way he always does when he’s upset, which Hiro knows because he’s pathetic and hyper-attentive. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have accused you of trying to make money off me. Just – you can’t do stuff like this, Hiro. You can’t – I’m not someone you need to rescue. I’m just some stripper you met on your birthday, so you shouldn’t be devoting your energy into doing stuff for me. I’m flattered, and I’m grateful, I really am, but you don’t have to look out for me. You _shouldn’t._ You’ve got your own stuff to deal with, let me deal with mine.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Hiro mumbles.

 

“Don’t be. It’s just, this was all really dumb. _Really_ dumb, and really unnecessary. I can see your heart was in the right place, but no more of this, okay? I got angrier than I should have, considering I did agree to come with you, and you were only trying to help, but,” he sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I don’t _want_ anything from you, Hiro. I meant it, you know? You don’t have to give me anything to be my friend, not food, or money or anything else. And I know my circumstances are kinda shit, but I don’t need charity.”

 

“That’s _not --”_ Hiro starts, shocked. “I didn’t think you needed charity! You’re more of an adult than I am, I can barely take care of my cat, let alone myself, you just – you just seem really unhappy all the time,” he trails off, folding his arms against his chest. Megabot sits uncomfortably in the pocket of his hoodie. “I only wanted to make you happy.”

 

“You already _make_ me happy,” Tadashi responds, although his voice sounds anything but. “I don’t have a lot of friends, you know? I _am_ happy when you drop in all the time, even if – even if I feel like I’m not giving you much in return.” He snorts a mirthless laugh. “You keep giving me a lot more than I deserve, buddy. Your time and effort and a _battle bot…_ look, I’m sorry. Tonight was just bad luck, it wasn’t your fault. You’re dumb as hell, but you’re a sweet guy.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Hiro mutters sourly, keeping his eyes glues to his shoes. Mochi ambles in from somewhere in the peripherals of his vision, rubbing against his ankles with a concerned _meow._ Hiro huffs at it.

 

Tadashi chuckles. It’s soft and tired, but it’s genuine. “I suppose now I can say I’ve been arrested, even though I wasn’t even drunk enough to enjoy it.” He ruffles Hiro’s hair a little cautiously. “I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow. You’re right, I’m not the first person to not show up unannounced. Don’t sweat it, alright? But maybe lay off the bot fighting for a while. I think your aunt might have actually had a mini-aneurysm today. I really wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”

 

“Too late, you’re already on her bad side,” says Hiro primly. The corner of his mouth quirks despite himself, and he looks up to see the same expression mirrored on Tadashi’s face. “She thinks you’re shady, you’ll have to seriously sweet-talk her if you ever want her to let you in again. Oh, speaking of which, are you staying the night?” he fiddles with the hem of his hoodie, suddenly bashful. “I could lend you some clothes, and the couch is always free. You don’t have to get up early, since she already knows you’re here.”

 

“Nah, I’d better head home,” Tadashi sighs. “I think she might actually kill me if she sees me in her living room again.” He lets go of Hiro’s head and steps back, patting at his pockets to make sure he’s got all his things. “This is gonna make one hell of a story one day. First I need to sleep for fourteen hours, though.”

 

“Sorry,” Hiro says sheepishly. Tadashi sighs and pulls him into a hug.

 

“Stop that,” he says, folding Hiro against his chest even as he stiffens in surprise. The material of Tadashi’s jacket is scratchy against his face. “Don’t worry, okay? We’re still good. God help me if you ever get me arrested again I will _break your neck_ , but we’re still good. Now quit it, you’re too nice to be getting all sad over someone like me.”

 

Hiro begs to differ. He doesn’t get to say it, though, because he’d much rather shut his eyes and steal some enjoyment from the weak little flutter in his stomach that comes from having Tadashi so close. He smells like secondhand cigarettes and drugstore cologne, and Hiro might be wrong but he’d like to think that a tiny, imperceptible kiss is pressed against the crown of his head.

 

He’s released too soon and held at arm’s length to be inspected. Hiro realises belatedly that he’d neglected to hug back, but he supposes it’s a bit too late to fix that now. “Go to bed,” says Tadashi. “No more getting in trouble. And tell your aunt I said I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to turn her nephew into a repeat offender.”

 

“Her nephew did that to himself,” Hiro shrugs. Tadashi pats his shoulders and takes a step back, glancing at the door and giving Hiro one last wave before he turns around.

 

“I’ll let myself out. Uh, see you around, I guess.”

 

“Good luck talking to your boss.”

 

“Thanks.” Tadashi gets the door open without too much trouble, and Hiro follows so he can lock up. He watches him leave through the glass pane under the pretense of fiddling with their little sign that says ‘closed’.

 

Tadashi surprises him by turning around once, although neither seems to know quite what to do when they make eye contact. Hiro busies himself with picking Mochi up from where the cat is weaving itself around his legs. He waves Mochi’s paw at Tadashi, and Tadashi grins back.

 

He heads to the buses. The last few will be leaving for the night, since it’s not yet three a.m., so he should be fine. Sighing, he hefts Mochi into a more comfortable position and trudges upstairs for the night, careful to void the creaky steps so he doesn’t disturb his poor aunt’s sleep any further. His bed is a little uncomfortable despite having recently been slept in, and Hiro settles in with Mochi on his stomach and sighs.

 

“That could have gone a lot better,” he sighs, words lost into the darkness of his bedroom. Mochi nibbles his fingers consolingly.

 

 

 

He falls asleep thinking about all the repairs he’s going to need to make on Megabot. He rolls over, curling around Mochi, and snorts. If his life could be fixed as easily as his robot, he’d probably fuck up a lot less.

 

 

 

Aunt Cass puts him to work the moment the café opens for the day. This time, Hiro’s pleased to say he’s not surprised at all.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't force yourself to write. If you force, poop will come out." - emmaburritos, 2015.
> 
> Speaking of which, Emma has drawn two truly spectacular pieces of fanart of the garage scene from last chapter, which you can find in my fanart tag right [here.](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/tagged/Fanart-of-my-fanfic) Hiro is wearing a beanie and he is adorable, and Tadashi is fellating a spoon. While you're at it, scroll a little further down. Treat your eyes to the reality that tumblr user mia7437 has gifted us with the image of a literal stripper sunfire. As in, the stripper version of the superhero. life is good. 
> 
> and then do yourselves a favour and check out this [ sexy mechanic bastard](http://aloeviera.tumblr.com/post/119331881426/hes-a-mechanic-idk-i-wanted-an-excuse-to-draw) courtesy of V, whose piece right [ here](http://aloeviera.tumblr.com/post/114431184571/striptease-well-here-you-go-with-some-tadashi) is what got this sinful fanfic ball rolling in the first place. 
> 
>  
> 
> I had to rewrite this chapter quite a bit, because the original thing looked a little like 
> 
> \- ~~have hiro attempt to give his bot fighting winnings to tadashi~~  
>  \- let's get tadashi arrested, it'll be hilarious  
> \- ~~a huge fight at the end in which hiro cries and tadashi feels like an asshole~~  
>  \- fuck that
> 
>  
> 
> consider aunt cass hearing tadashi yell 'DOUBLE PENETRATION' from upstairs. she goes to their room to investigate. tadashi has hiro in a headlock. hiro is screaming. tadashi puts two fingers in hiro's nose. 
> 
>  
> 
> hiro's bot fighting theme song is [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DMf7WyKwHbw)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psst, buddy, your inferiority complex is showing.

 

 

“It would’ve been a pretty good idea, if you guys hadn’t gotten arrested.”

 

Hiro puts his head in his hands and sighs. The drafts of his final Mechanics project are almost complete. All he actually has to do is start calculations proper, which should really be pretty simple with most of the planning done, but he can’t bring himself to want to _look at_ the fucking thing. He’d spent so long on Tadashi’s spiderbot that he’s got nothing in his head but needle-tips and defensive manouevers. The idea of building an algorithm for a zero-drag aircraft is making him want to test out his _own_ aerodynamics by launching himself out the window.

 

Fred pats him on the shoulder, prompting a noise something like a hibernating bear cub. “You gotta study, dude. I don’t think you’re gonna be very happy with yourself if you end up flunking out and repeating a year.”

 

Hiro makes another muted bear noise. “I can’t _do_ anything. All I can think about is that fucking bot fight and what a goddamn idiot I am. I bet he hates me. I mean, yeah, he was super nice about it in the end, but I wouldn’t wanna keep being friends with a guy who got me arrested, y’know?”

 

“You said it was just holding,” Fred responds, not unkindly. His hair, tied up this time instead of shoved under a beanie, falls forward a little into his eyes. He pushes it back. “Anyway, there’s nothing you can do about it right now save for waiting for him to make the next move, so you might as well try to concentrate on the stuff you _do_ know how to deal with. Like that project you’ve been staring at for the past half hour.”

 

Hiro huffs at him. “It’s almost done, anyway, it’s all the other projects I have to worry about. Anyway, don’t lecture me. Your love life is stable, and your finals aren’t for ages.” He pauses, and then sighs. “I keep forgetting you’re an English major. I bet you’d have started reading weeks ago, huh?”

 

“I feel like my eyes are gonna fall out of my head,” says Fred cheerfully.

 

Hiro frowns at his paper. The library is crammed with students; finals season is just starting to rear its ugly head, and it’s really only a matter of weeks before the full-fledged panic sets in. As it is Hiro thinks there’s a guy in the corner who hasn’t left in a few days, and it had taken some searching to find an empty table that didn’t have some poor kid sleeping under it.

 

He hasn’t seen Honey Lemon in a while, either. Then again, she’s generally busier than him. She has the same five courses that he does, except she hadn’t picked a fun filler to take up slots. While he’d decided to goof off in quantum physics, she’d instead elected to study microbiology. All that while juggling a part-time job at the campus café, too. Women, Hiro decides, are terrifyingly proficient.

 

Fred watches a girl go past balancing a stack of books slightly taller than she is. He’s got slight baggage under his eyes, which breaks Hiro’s heart a little, because he’s well aware that sleeping is one of Fred’s favourite pastimes. He’s starting to get a goatee thing going on, too, and he scratches at it as he talks. “You’re in second year, man. No fooling around anymore. This time what you do actually _counts.”_

 

“I know,” Hiro groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. The librarian shushes him, and he sheepishly drops his voice to a stage whisper. “I need to get my shit together. I left all of this ‘til the last minute, like I always do.”

 

Fred pats him again, this time on the head, and Hiro automatically leans into the touch. “You’ve got advisors to talk to, don’t you? Maybe you can ask for help from one of them – hey, don’t fall asleep, you still have work to do.”

 

“Don’t expect me not to fall asleep if you’re gonna rub behind my ears,” Hiro grumps, tugging his tablet closer and sliding its holographic screen out. Fred leans over his shoulder to see.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

“I’m doing what you said. I’m gonna email Callaghan and ask if he’s busy. It’s his office hours now, but he might be in the middle of talking to someone. I’m not going all the way over there for no reason.”

 

Fred squints at the little clock display in the top right corner of the screen. “Ah, shit. My mom wants to have tea in about an hour. I should head home, she gets really sad when I miss one of her things.”

 

Hiro flaps a hand at him dismissively. “The next time you see me, I’ll be motivated and – oh, that was fast. Looks like I’ll be dropping in on the professor after all.”

 

Fred ruffles his hair once more for good measure. “Good luck, little man. If you pass all your papers, I’ll reward you with the finest movies and junk foods imaginable.”

 

“We have those things together all the time, Freddie,” Hiro says, handing Fred his pencil case and taking a minute to shove all his own things into his backpack. Their wooden chairs scrape soundlessly at the weird green carpet, and Hiro he weaves his way through the library’s tall shelves and off to the doors, Fred right behind.

 

They split ways outside the building with a wave. Fred’s chauffer is probably lurking around the corner somewhere, concealed behind buildings because Fred tends not to want to showcase his wealth. Hiro heads to the engineering building a little sluggishly, pausing briefly to contemplate the Starbucks vending machine placed strategically next to the footpath. He decides against. He doesn’t actually _like_ the taste of coffee, even after fifteen years of living in a literal café.

 

Double glass doors slide open soundlessly as he approaches. The air inside the building is stuck in that weird uncertainty between warmth and coolness, like administration isn’t sure whether to use air conditioning or the central heating. Callaghan’s on the third floor, and Hiro knocks a couple of times and cautiously pokes his head around the door. Callaghan looks up from his desktop computer and waves him in.

 

 

 

“Mr Hamada,” he says pleasantly, taking off his glasses and placing them on a stack of graded papers. Hiro eyes the red pen-marks apprehensively for a second before he remembers that he hasn’t actually had to hand anything in yet.

 

“Hi, Professor,” he says a little belatedly, settling in the chair opposite and letting his backpack fall onto the floor with a thud. The inside of the office is much the same as the outside, all big clear windows and sleek furniture. Callaghan’s put his own grandpa touch into it, though, with his kitten posters and the mug of coffee on his desk cheerfully proclaiming that he’s _World’s Okayest Dad._ “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

 

“I have office hours for a reason, you know,” Callaghan says, steepling his hands together and regarding Hiro thoughtfully. “Otherwise I’d just be sitting here reading old emails all day. What can I help you with?”

 

“Kinda hit a dead end with the robotics project. I can’t help but feel like my brain’s all useless and empty.”

 

“Washed up at eighteen, how sad,” Callaghan smiles at him wryly. His sweater-vest is an endearingly awful shade of brown. “You do realise you don’t actually have to _build_ anything?”

 

“Yeah, I know, we’re just coming up with preliminary designs,” Hiro says. His feet don’t quite touch the ground in these chairs, which makes him feel like a little kid. “But, I mean, we have to use these for final year projects, right? I don’t want to be stuck with a crappy design, if you’ll pardon my French.”

 

Callaghan nods and offers Hiro the candy jar. They’re old people toffees, but Hiro takes one anyway. “You aren’t bound to your second-year design. Most students just happen to use them for the sake of convenience. You can scrap your ideas if you’re not happy with them. You just need something reasonably well thought out to get your thirty per cent. The rest of your grade is either exam based or already taken care of, and I know you’ll do well in your exam.”

 

Chewing carefully on his candy, Hiro hums. “I don’t want to turn in a half-assed project, pardon my French again.” He looks away from the window to offer his professor a lopsided grin. “I don’t think you’d forgive me if I turned in a half-assed project.”

 

“I would not,” Callaghan chuckles. “You’re capable of a lot more than the average SFIT student, Mr Hamada, which is saying something. I expect to see that in the quality of your work. You might think me a slave driver for it, but somehow I get the impression that you’ve never been academically pushed in your life.”

 

Hiro shrugs, a little ashamed. “Never really had to try that hard.”

 

Callaghan raises an eyebrow. Hiro shrinks back slightly in his seat. “Such an attitude isn’t going to suffice here, Mr Hamada. Although, I imagine you’ve already learnt that from your first year here. As I remember, your results were acceptable, but not spectacular.”

 

Hiro flushes slightly and keeps his gaze trained on the table. “I, uh, might have underestimated exactly how hard I needed to study.”

 

Callaghan leans forward to get his attention, and Hiro glances up. The old man’s face is a little softer. Now he looks more like a dad than a military man. “You wouldn’t be the first. That’s why we go easy on freshmen. I’m glad to see that you’re asking for help, this time, instead of relying on the same tactics that got you through high school. Have you started on your project yet?”

 

“No?” Hiro winces.

 

Callaghan’s eyebrow goes up again. “And your other courses?”

 

“Mostly done,” Hiro says quickly. “Math and coding are mostly exam-based, and I’ve done most of my classical mechanics project, and quantum mechanics is…”

 

“Fun, at an undergraduate level,” says Callaghan, smiling. Hiro scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “So robotics is what’s worrying you?”

 

“I just don’t want to do…not well, I guess.”

 

Callaghan hums pensively. Hiro eyes the candy jar, but doesn’t ask for another. “You know, procrastination is usually a symptom of a fear of failing.”

 

Hiro realises he must look like a kicked puppy, because Callaghan offers him the candy jar again. Hiro wastes no time in accepting. “As I said, Mr Hamada, you’re an exceptionally gifted student. Failure is incredibly unlikely, as long as you put in effort. And even if bad fortune does strike, an unsatisfactory grade is really not the end of the world. Try not to stress yourself out. Anyway, it’s only thirty percent of your grade, so at this stage you don’t have to work miracles. Who knows? You might find that the seeds of an idea are already in your head somewhere. Your microbots were an inspired piece of tech, as I recall.” He peers at a paper on his desk, and then corrects something with the flick of his fountain pen. “It could be worse. You could be a scholarship student, and then you might end up one of those poor children camping out in the library.”

 

Hiro cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know, some of them have already started – since when does SFIT have scholarships?”

 

Callaghan furrows his brows. “Since the beginning, I imagine.”

 

“Seriously? How have I never heard of this?”

 

“It’s not advertised as often as I’d like, but it _is_ mentioned at every university fair. They should have had one at your high school, several colleges would visit over the course of the year, or all at the same time, just to make themselves known to prospective students – you _did_ go to yours, didn’t you?”

 

Hiro makes a tiny noise that might be a ‘no’. To his credit, Callaghan looks more amused than exasperated. “How did you know which universities to apply to, then?”

 

“…you can apply to more than one?”

 

Callaghan stifles a laugh behind his hand, and then reaches into one of his desk drawers to rifle around. He finds a couple of introductory brochures, which he hands to Hiro to leaf through. “There are partial scholarships, and full scholarships. They’re offered based on the financial situation of the student. The difference is that the partial scholarships pay for the cost of the tuition, and the full scholarship covers room and board as well.”

 

Hiro runs his fingers over the glossy paper, speed-reading through the introduction printed in neat font over a background of the EXPO hall. “But you have to pay them back, right?”

 

“I think you’re confusing a scholarship with financial aid. You have to pay back financial aid, yes, but scholarships don’t need repayment. Students do often find themselves staying on in SFIT for their postgraduate degrees, though, or sometimes to do scientific research.”

 

Hiro looks up. “How do you apply?”

 

“The process is outlined in that second brochure I gave you, but basically it’s the same as how you applied, just with a couple of extra steps. Once you’ve been accepted at the showcase, you’ll need to do something like a viva.”

 

“That’s the thing where you defend your dissertation, right?”

 

“Yes.” Spinning slightly in his chair, Callaghan taps at the keyboard of his PC. “I’m one of the interviewers, along with Professors Watkins and Khan.”

 

“Professor Khan?”

 

“The philosophy professor,” Callaghan says, smiling at Hiro’s confusion. “Yes, SFIT has a department of humanities, although it isn’t very big. You would have seen its courses when applying for your general education classes.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know it was, like, a department.”

 

Callaghan nods. “It doesn’t feature much in the news, since they don’t have inventions that need showcasing. You might think philosophy has nothing to do with technology, but she asks some very difficult questions. You should be more worried about her than Watkins and I, if you’re thinking of applying.”

 

“I’m not,” Hiro says, only half-paying attention. “How hard is it to get in?”

 

“Very.” Callaghan glances at his monitor, and then purses his lips. “About ten to fifteen percent of applicants are successful every year. Needless to say, you have to be _very_ good. We’re looking for dedicated students with something extra to them, although what that is can vary sometimes.”

 

“But there’s a chance that the fees can be cut? Or waived, even?”

 

“Yes, although like I said, those spots are hard to get since we reserve most of our dorm space for international students and those coming from out of state, so – you seem very happy about this.”

 

“I’m not,” says Hiro, grinning so wide his face hurts. Rising abruptly, he shoves the pamphlets into his back and tosses it over one shoulder, stealing another toffee out of the jar before Callaghan can even think about protesting. “You’re the best, sir! You’ve seriously helped me out of a tight spot, I’m gonna make you proud, you’ll see!”

 

“Good luck,” says Callaghan, a little lost as Hiro bounces out his office with a skip in his step, earlier trepidation suddenly gone completely.

 

“Kids,” he sighs, and helps himself to a candy.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hiro’s trying to memorise a line of borderline nonsensical HTML code two days later when his aunt comes in with a bouquet of flowers and a perplexed expression.

 

Hiro blinks at the flowers, and then blinks at her. “Those for me?”

 

“No,” she says, like she can’t decide whether to be happy or annoyed. “They’re for me.”

 

Hiro shuts his book with a sigh. The flowers are a pretty sort of purple-blue, bunched up into little groups and wrapped in pink ribbon. “Is there another creepy guy hitting on you? Am I gonna have to chase him out?”

 

“No, I can do that myself.” She frowns and brandishes the bouquet at him from where she’s standing in the doorway. “It’s that boy again. The one you got arrested with.”

 

“Wh—Tadashi’s here? _He’s_ hitting on you?”

 

“No, Hiro, he gave these to me and said he was sorry, and then he asked if you were around.” She purses her lips, obviously not very happy about letting Hiro see Tadashi after the whole unfortunate bot fighting thing, but probably giving in because of the flowers. _Clever,_ thinks Hiro. “He’s waiting downstairs, if you want to see him.”

 

“I will,” Hiro says with forced nonchalance, pausing only briefly to fix his hair in the mirror. “Did he say why he wanted me?”

 

“No,” Aunt Cass sighs. She sounds resigned. “I’d better go put these in some water. Don’t get up to any funny business, young man, you keep that ‘Tadashi’ of yours in check. And put some pants on, you can’t go downstairs like that.”

 

Hiro looks down and discovers that he is, indeed, wearing a dark blue t shirt and a pair of pizza-patterned boxers. “Good call, Aunt Cass.”

 

She turns away with another sigh. Hiro thinks that she sighs a lot, around him, although that’s really nothing new. “I’m going back downstairs. If you’re going to see him, be quick, dear, it’s not nice to keep someone waiting.”

 

“I’m putting on pants as we speak,” Hiro says, digging through his cupboard for a pair of jeans. The only thing he can find is a pair of yellow cutoffs, which he’s…not quite sure why he has, actually, but they’ll do. He shimmies into them and launches himself out the door and down the stairs, footsteps thudding until he gets downstairs and they’re lost to the chatter of the crowd.

 

Tadashi’s standing in front of the counter, wearing a letterman jacket, his baseball cap, and a mildly terrified expression. Aunt Cass is nowhere to be seen, which must mean she’s retreated to the kitchens for now. Lucky for them. Hiro trots over with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the black, rectangular glasses perched on Tadashi’s face. “When did those happen?”

 

Tadashi visibly melts in relief when he realises who it is that’s talking to him. He opens his mouth to respond, but his gaze is drawn to Hiro’s very yellow pants, and his mouth shuts so it can twist into a tiny smile. “Those are cute.”

 

Hiro rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, I look like a lemon. Have you been visually challenged this whole time? ‘Cause I’m not gonna lie, it’s not a bad look on you, even if it makes you look like a dork.”

 

Tadashi snorts a laugh. “Gee, thanks. I usually have contacts, but I’ve run out. Is, uh, is your aunt gonna come back out any time soon?”

 

Hiro props a hip against the counter. “Why? You gonna try to seduce her some more? I saw the flowers, buddy.”

 

Tadashi grins sheepishly. “I thought they might make her forgive me. I’d still really rather not hang around where she can see me, though, she’s giving me some pretty intense stinkeye. She must think I’m corrupting your innocence.”

 

“Definitely,” Hiro says, neglecting to mention that his aunt had scolded him for bringing other people into his unhealthy bot fighting habit when she’d woken him up the next day. “Come on, the living room’s free, she won’t glare at you there.” He turns and beckons for Tadashi to follow, drifting around furniture and customers and into the relative darkness of the stairway. Two sets of footsteps thump up the stairs instead of one. “Don’t look up my skirt.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Tadashi says dryly. “Although the view from here is pretty spectacular.”

 

“Pervert,” Hiro says, reaching the top of the stairs and busying himself with the light switch so Tadashi can’t witness his face go warm. “Next time I’m gonna fart on you, you’ll see.”

 

“Consider this friendship void, then,” Tadashi says easily, flopping onto the couch and grinning as Mochi materializes out of nowhere to meow at him for attention. “I mean, getting me put in a holding cell, I can forgive. Farting on me, not so much.”

 

Hiro regards him from a distance, chewing the inside of his cheek as Tadashi picks the chubby feline up and hauls it onto his lap. “You can forgive that, huh?”

 

Tadashi looks up from petting Mochi. His smile fades, and Hiro drops his gaze so he doesn’t have to see the pity that’s surely going to come next. “Yes, Hiro. I’m not mad at you.”

 

Hiro shuffles his feet. “Why’d you stop by?”

 

“To see you,” Tadashi says gently. “Which I can’t really do if you’re gonna hide behind a cupboard.”

 

“I’m not hiding,” Hiro says from behind a cupboard. He sighs, and then shuffles out and over to the couch, where Tadashi pats the seat next to him until Hiro sits. Mochi kneads his thigh. “Did you…did you want something?”

 

“To see you,” Tadashi reiterates like Hiro’s being obtuse on purpose. It looks like he’s got cobwebs on his hat, although Hiro’s hardly surprised to see them. “Because that’s a thing that friends do. And you, buddy, have a habit of beating yourself up for no reason, so I’m here to knock some sense into you instead.” He flicks Hiro’s forehead, although that pretty quickly turns into ruffling his hair. “Forget about it. I’m gonna make fun of you for ages, but other than that, don’t worry, okay?”

 

“Okay,” says Hiro unhappily, pressing his head against Tadashi’s hand in an effort to get him to scratch at his head properly. “Why are you petting me? What about me makes people want to pet me?”

 

“Might be the hair,” Tadashi says mildly. “And you seem like you’re enjoying it.”

 

“I’m not. To the left.”

 

Tadashi obliges him. Mochi meows, and Tadashi sighs and pets him too. “Honestly, I should turn this into a business.”

 

“Stop complaining, you’ve already got two jobs – oh!” He straightens up suddenly, startling Tadashi, the cat, and the spider on Tadashi’s head, and leaps off the couch to hurtle upstairs and into his room.

 

There’s a crash as he upsets his desk chair, and then he’s running back downstairs and clambering half onto the couch and half onto Tadashi. Mochi yowls and hops onto the safety of the armrest. The spider retreats to the safety of the snap. Hiro braces a hand on Tadashi’s knee and waves his prize in front of him; two glossy brochures from Callaghan’s office, SFIT logo printed on the front and scholarship information inside.

 

Tadashi goes a little cross-eyed trying to read them. “Hiro, what – are these more battle bot plans?”

 

“ _No,_ Tadashi, god, get with the times,” Hiro says, settling back into his seat and unfolding the pamphlets. He pulls one leg up so he’s sitting half Indian-style, and hands Tadashi the first leaflet, pointing out the _financial aid_ section with his finger. “SFIT,” he says triumphantly, “has _money.”_

 

Tadashi blinks at him. “They – what? I don’t have the means to pay back loans, Hiro.”

 

“That’s why you’re gonna apply for a scholarship!” Hiro says almost before Tadashi’s finished his sentence. He opens up the other brochure for good measure and gives it to Tadashi to read. “I don’t know _why_ I didn’t think about that before, but the university’ll offer to pay for you if they like you. And they’ll give you a spot on campus if you’re _really_ good, so you could even move there if you wanted to, and you wouldn’t have to pay rent! And they’ll buy your books, and your food, and pay for tuition – all you have to do is build something really impressive for the showcase, and then they’ll ask you a bunch of questions about it once they pass you. And I think the showcase is at the end of summer, so if you start work _now_ you’ll be done with plenty of time to--”

 

“Hiro.” Tadashi puts a hand over Hiro’s face to stop him from talking, although this does almost nothing to contain his sudden, bubbly enthusiasm. “What’s going on? Why are you telling me this all of a sudden?”

 

“My robotics professor told me about it,” Hiro says against Tadashi’s palm. His face is released. “I asked about the details, it’s a hundred percent legit, just really difficult. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible! You’ve got the brains to pull it off, and then you’ll be able to go to SFIT like you wanted and you won’t have to worry about paying for it.”

 

Tadashi, for some reason, doesn’t look as happy as Hiro thought he would be. “What makes you think I have the brains?”

 

Hiro falters. “Why wouldn’t you?”

 

“Not everyone is smart, Hiro,” Tadashi says, voice equal parts patient and unhappy. He ruffles Hiro’s hair again, although his heart’s not really in it. “I mean, thank you for believing in me, I guess, but I really doubt I’ll make the cut. Hell, I don’t even know if I’d get past the first stage at the expo, y’know?”

 

“I don’t – isn’t this good news? I thought you’d be glad.”

 

“I _am,_ I mean, I’m glad you’re trying to help me, but,” Tadashi says, and then sighs. “I already knew there were scholarships. Some of us paid attention to university websites,” he quirks a brow. Hiro sinks into the couch. “I just…I’m not gonna try to do something I probably won’t succeed in, Hiro. I don’t have a lot of spare time, since I’ve got two jobs and all. Maybe this isn’t for me, hmm?”

 

Hiro deflates. “How can you say you can’t do it when you haven’t even tried yet?”

 

Tadashi runs a hand through his hair. “This sort of thing is tough, man. I mean, you’re obviously pretty brainy,” he grins humourlessly. “But spare a thought for us plebes, huh? Your average Joe isn’t gonna get a scholarship to SFIT. I haven’t even seen a textbook in years, I’m just a mechanic. And a stripper,” he amends.

 

Hiro frowns at him. “So _what?_ You know who else is applying? High school students. What does a high school student know about building things that you wouldn’t handle every day? You make a _living_ from machines. I’d call that an advantage.”

 

“Fixing up cars isn’t the same as inventing things,” Tadashi retorts. “And might I remind you, _you_ were a high school student, and you got in. That must mean high school students aren’t something to sneeze at.”

 

“That’s different, I’m a bot fighter. I’m not your average high school student, yeah, but neither are _you._ And even if you don’t make it, you’re not gonna know until you try, right? Isn’t it worth a shot?”

 

Mochi mews particularly loudly. Tadashi holds Hiro’s gaze for a while, and then looks away to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Look, thanks for this,” he says, giving the brochures back. “But I think your faith is a little misplaced.”

 

“Don’t tell me where to put my faith --”

 

 _“Hiro,”_ Tadashi very nearly snaps. He sighs, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and controlled. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I’m not doing it, okay? Thanks, but I really can’t. And, well, I really only came by to check up on you and make sure you’re okay. You seem fine, so maybe I should go. Thanks for letting me in.”

 

He gently pushes Hiro away and stands. Mochi meows inquisitively, demanding that its source of petting return and resume affection. Hiro narrows his eyes at Tadashi’s back as he trudges back to the stairs, brochures slowly getting crushed to death in his fist.

 

This is stupid. He’s not doing this.

 

He’s off the couch and grabbing Tadashi’s wrist before the man makes it halfway down the stairs. Tadashi stumbles, grabbing at the wall so he doesn’t trip, and swears in surprise when Hiro starts insistently tugging him back up to the living room. “Hiro, _what –_ let go of me, what are you doing?”

 

“You’re being _ridiculous,”_ Hiro huffs with the effort of dragging along a man significantly bigger than he is. “Seriously, what’s with you? What is this ‘doom-and-gloom’ thing?” He manages to shove Tadashi onto the couch, and then deposits Mochi onto his lap so he can’t stand up again without dropping the cat. Standing over him like this, Hiro hopes he looks at least slightly intimidating, hands on his hips and eyebrows turned down sharply. “Your inferiority complex is bugging me. _Spill._ What’s with you?”

 

Tadashi’s expression is one of disbelief. “You can’t just _manhandle_ me like that, who do you think you are--”

 

“Your _friend,”_ Hiro jabs him in the chest. “And I want to know what’s going on. Why are you being a stubborn sack of fucks?”

 

“Don’t call me a sack of fucks!”

 

“You _are_ a sack of fucks!” Hiro retorts. “Look at your life! Look at your choices! You get all sad about not being able to go to SFIT, and then when you have the chance, you won’t take it? You _knew_ about the scholarships! Why won’t you try? I mean, yeah, it’s been a while since high school for you but that doesn’t mean you can’t still apply.”

 

The corner of Tadashi’s mouth twists in a strange way, like he’s on the way to scowling. “I know myself a lot better than you do, Hiro. I’m not getting in.”

 

“ _How do you know that?_ Why do you insist on sabotaging yourself before you’ve even started?” It takes some effort to make himself sound at least slightly calm through the flicker of irritation in his gut, but Hiro takes a deep breath and puts on his best attempt at a serious face. “Don’t do this to yourself, man. I know, the idea of not making it is scary, but if there’s even a _chance_ that you can get in and do the stuff you want to, isn’t that worth the risk? Don’t clench your fists at me, you’re gonna strangle my cat.”

 

Tadashi releases Mochi, who doesn’t seem any worse for wear as it hops onto the floor and waddles away to bother the customers. “My life isn’t all that bad. I’m getting by. You don’t seem to understand that not everyone is like you, Hiro. Be realistic, okay?”

 

“You can do anything if you put your mind to it!”

 

Tadashi snorts. “The words of someone who’s never had to work for anything in his life. Look, sometimes things don’t go well, alright? Sometimes people have money or talent or whatever dropped into their laps, good for them. You seem to have more brains than anyone has any right having. And that’s fine! Really, it is! But I don’t _have_ that, Hiro, I’m not you. I can study and put my mind to whatever, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna get anywhere. We aren’t all lucky.”

 

Hiro shrinks. “Why are you so bitter?”

 

“…I’m sorry,” Tadashi sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not belittling you, I just…please drop this. It’s sweet that you want to help, but really, I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”

 

“It’s _not_ okay,” Hiro grabs Tadashi’s shoulders to push him back onto the couch when he tries to get up. “I’m not saying you’re gonna get in for sure, all I’m saying is that you have to _try_ \--”

 

“I _did!”_ Tadashi snaps. Hiro stops talking immediately. “I tried, okay? A long time ago, when I was fresh out of high school, I built a bot, and I took it to that year’s showcase, and it _broke down._ Right in front of the judges. I didn’t get in.”

 

Hiro says nothing. Tadashi scrubs his hands over his face and breathes out loudly through his nose, jostling his glasses with the movement and having to adjust them after. “You’re giving me a lot more credit than I deserve. I didn’t get in then, and I’m not gonna get in now. I’m not a genius, Hiro, I’m not _you._ I’m a stripper with a toolbox and I _can’t fucking do this._ ” His voice runs ragged around the edges, more so than Hiro’s ever heard it. Hiro looks down at him and notices, possibly for the first time, that Tadashi is… a lot smaller than Hiro thought he was.

 

He sits. Heavily, next to Tadashi, gaze fixed on the coffee table. Tadashi’s still got his head in his hands, like he’s nursing a headache, and Hiro chances a glance out of the corner of his eye at how Tadashi’s fingers clench in his own hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t…” he trails off and raises a hand, unsure whether to touch Tadashi reassuringly or not. He lets his hand fall back onto the cushions. Tadashi makes a soft noise of frustration, and Hiro stares at his toes.

 

There’s silence for a good few minutes, punctuated only by the bustle from downstairs and the occasional ticking of the clock on the wall. Hiro picks at a loose thread on his pants, wishing that Mochi hadn’t run off so he’d have something to distract himself with. Taking a deep breath, he leans back against the sofa and rolls his head a little to look at Tadashi, even though all he can see from here is his back.

 

“Sometimes, when things don’t go so well the first time, that doesn’t mean they’ll turn out the same way if you try again. You know better now. You’ve learnt what _not_ to do. And I know I don’t know you as well as I’d like, and I can’t really begin to understand what your situation must be like, and you don’t have to _tell_ me, I just… you came to that open day for a reason, didn’t you?” he says, voice soft and pleading. “Am I wrong? You _want_ to go, don’t you? You said as much. If you want to do this, why not do it? Why not at least _try?”_

 

Tadashi lets go of his face and rests his arms on his knees, although he doesn’t turn around to look Hiro in the eye. “What if I don’t make it, Hiro?”

 

“What if you _do?”_

 

Tadashi sighs. “Why do you insist on me going to SFIT? Why’re you so bothered by it?”

 

“Because I want you to be happy, you idiot,” Hiro says, throwing his hands up in half-hearted despair. “I’ve only just met you and I _care_ about you, even if you don’t.”

 

They both lapse into silence. Tadashi fiddles with something Hiro can’t see, and then turns a little bit to look at him, although he keeps his eyes focused on Hiro’s knee rather than trying to look at his face. “Sorry I basically accused you of having it easy. You don’t, uh. You don’t have any parents, do you?”

 

“Nah,” Hiro says quietly. It doesn’t hurt to admit. “They died. Aunt Cass is basically my mom now, though. It’s not too bad.”

 

Tadashi nods. “I’m glad. That you’ve got your aunt, I mean.”

 

“What about you? You got a family?”

 

“Huh? Oh. No, I don’t.”

 

“Oh.” Hiro chews on his lower lip, and then gently nudges Tadashi with his knee. “Got a pet?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“You want Mochi?”

 

Tadashi laughs. “Would that I could, man. No pets in my apartment. And I don’t think your aunt would be very happy if you gave her cat away. I don’t need any more reason for her to hate me.”

 

“She doesn’t hate you, she’s just suspicious of you. She’s suspicious of me, too, the only difference is that I’m her nephew and she’s too nice to kick me out, so she keeps me around.”

 

“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to keep you around,” Tadashi says, and then blinks. “I mean – tax returns, and whatever. I – anyway,” he says, turning away abruptly. “Listen, I shouldn’t have gone off on you, I probably should have told you the truth from the beginning, it’s just – it’s a little embarrassing, y’know? Admitting you failed to someone who’s a lot smarter than you,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. Hiro squints at him. It looks like the tips of Tadashi’s ears are turning red.

 

He suppresses a smile. “I’m smarter than most people,” he says nonchalantly, and then softens. “But probably not you.”

 

“You don’t even know how smart I am.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Hiro admits. “But I’m smart, and I’m saying you’re smart, so if you say you’re not smart, then you’re saying I’m wrong, which is by extension saying _I’m_ not smart, which is contradicting yourself.”

 

Tadashi leans back against the couch cushions and snorts at him again. They’re side-by-side, knees almost touching, although they don’t try to face each other. “Smart people can be wrong sometimes.”

 

“And smart people can mess up their inventions sometimes,” says Hiro smugly. “You know what happened when I ran a simulation for the first draft of that battle bot I designed you? It went crazy and stabbed a hole in my face. Virtually, I mean, but what I’m saying is that I’m in my second year at one of the best universities in the world, and the shit I build explodes on me more often than it works. I put wheels on an iPod one night and I haven’t been able to catch it since. I put _rocket boots_ on my _cat._ I almost flew poor Mochi into Callaghan. I can’t remember why I brought him into SFIT in the first place, actually, but my point is that I’m sort of a dumbass. And a lot of the people I know are sort of dumbasses. We’re not another species. We mess up sometimes. You picked a bad time to mess up, but that doesn’t make you any more of a dumbass than I am.”

 

Tadashi smiles, but still doesn’t look at him. He looks tired, not that Hiro’s ever really seen him look any other way. “What makes you think things are gonna be different this time around, huh?”

 

“Because this time around you have _me,”_ Hiro says simply. “I can help, and I’m not saying I’m gonna do your shit for you, because I’m not, but I have resources that you probably didn’t back then. I’ve got a shit ton of textbooks that you can use – no, don’t look at me like that, it’s not cheating. They’re available in the SFIT library, all I’m doing is saving you the trouble of buying a library pass. I can _help._ And _you,”_ he says, leaning forward and shifting around so he’s facing Tadashi, “are not the same person you used to be. You’re better. You know more. You’ve been on your own for a while. You’re _different_ from all the other snot-nosed kids that are gonna apply, and Callaghan’s gonna see that.”

 

“You were a snot-nosed kid once yourself, you know.”

 

“Are you kidding? I’m still as snotty as they come,” Hiro smiles. Acting on impulse, he reaches forward to take Tadashi by the hand, emboldened because the other man isn’t looking at him directly. “If you’re not gonna do it for you, at least do it for me. Do it because you want to prove me wrong, or whatever. Do it so you can study with me and I can pick on you for being a freshman. Do it so I can call you a nerd to your face without having to go halfway across town to see you.”

 

“I have a phone, man, you don’t have to go all the way to the garage,” Tadashi finally gives him a lopsided smile. “I don’t have _time_ to work on something, Hiro, I’ve got two jobs…”

 

“Excuses,” Hiro says. “If you can make time to visit me, you might as well make time to do something that’s actually gonna be _good_ for you.”

 

Tadashi looks a little helpless. “You _are_ good for me.”

 

Hiro’s brain blue-screens for a second. He realises a bit too late that he’s still holding Tadashi’s hand, and that Tadashi’s squeezing Hiro’s fingers, and he lets go mutely so he can cover his face. “Don’t _say_ stuff like that, Christ. You’re so _embarrassing.”_

 

“Sorry,” says Tadashi like he’s just as embarrassed. The couch springs squeak as Tadashi shifts, and Hiro’s hands are pulled away from his face. He glares when Tadashi comes back into view, right in front of him and inches away. “I just – I don’t think you even realise --”

 

  

 

“Hiro?”

 

They jump away from each other like they’ve been electrocuted. Hiro twists his head around, only to see his aunt standing at the top of the stairs, arms folded, one eyebrow raised and a rolling pin in hand. Hiro turns white. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

 

“Nothing,” Hiro responds, voice cracking at the end a little. He glances down; Mochi’s circling Aunt Cass’s feet and looking pleased with himself. _Tattletale._ “We just – I, uh, we were talking--”

 

She doesn’t seem impressed. “Might I remind you that you’re still grounded, young man. You aren’t really supposed to be seeing your friends.” She turns her disapproval on Tadashi, who attempts to disappear into the arm of the couch. “Don’t you have school to go to?”

 

“No, ma’am,” he says meekly, taking off his hat and holding it in front of his chest like that’s going to protect him. The spider crawls into his sleeve to hide.

 

She purses her lips. “Alright. The flowers were nice,” she says, and then shoos Mochi out from underfoot so she can go back downstairs. “You boys stay out of trouble, hear me?”

 

“Yes, Aunt Cass,” says Hiro, and keeps deathly still until she disappears completely. He breathes a sigh of relief at Mochi’s cat butt as it waddles after its owner, and then sinks back against the sofa. “One of these days I’m gonna eat that cat.”

 

“You got grounded? _”_

 

Hiro flushes. “Yeah, asshat, I got _grounded._ Don’t act all high and mighty, you’re scared of her too.”

 

Tadashi’s face crumples. “Oh my god, it’s like you’re _twelve.”_

 

Hiro hits him. “Don’t _laugh_ at me,” he says, although it’s hard not to smile when Tadashi’s vibrating silently in his seat. His shoulders slump dramatically, and he turns away to mournfully stare at the blank TV screen. “Okay, I see how it is. After everything I’ve done for you, I’m still being mocked. Leave me, Tadashi, and let me pick up the pieces of my dignity.”

 

He gets a hand in his hair for his troubles. It’s slow and soothing instead of the quick ruffle that Tadashi usually gives him, and Hiro leans his head back to chase the affection. He turns; Tadashi’s face is soft and glowy from amusement. Hiro smiles at him, but Tadashi doesn’t smile back. “You know, sometimes I wonder where you came from.”

 

“Fresno. We moved here when I was ten.”

 

Tadashi rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant, dummy.” Hiro reaches up and adjusts Tadashi’s hand so he’s petting a more pleasant spot, and Tadashi huffs in amusement. “I’m glad. That your friends decided to take you to a strip club on your birthday. I mean, I wish we’d met under better circumstances, but this is…this is good. I’m glad.”

 

Hiro twiddles his thumbs shyly. “When you get into SFIT, we’ll be schoolmates. Those are good circumstances.”

 

“If I get into SFIT, huh.”

 

“When,” says Hiro. “ _When_ you get into SFIT.”

 

Tadashi nods, almost to himself. “Promise me,” he says, rubbing his thumb right behind the shell of Hiro’s ear. “Promise me that if I do this, I won’t be doing it for nothing. I’m – just, promise me that it’s worth trying for.”

 

Hiro nods back. “I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Tadashi says, and hugs him. His jacket is soft and he smells like cologne this time instead of cigarettes. Hiro shuts his eyes and lets himself go limp. It’s a little awkward when they’re sitting next to each other, but Tadashi puts his face in Hiro’s hair and Hiro smiles into the fabric of Tadashi’s t shirt. “I know I’m a stubborn sack of fucks, but… don’t give up on me, yeah? I don’t want you to give up on me.”

 

 

 

“Never,” Hiro says. This time, he remembers to hug back.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr Callaghan more like Dr DILF amiright
> 
> i like to think that hiro is always snacking, at all times of the day, and he eats the most awful junk food, and nobody understands how he's not already the size of a blimp. but tadashi. tadashi is a real piece of work. the guy has some pretty strange taste in food, like, you'll just come in to see him eating a slice of kraft cheese slathered in ketchup, or cheetos with nutella
> 
> your aunt is a professional chef
> 
> and you eat _that_
> 
> people are probably distressed by this, and hiro just teases him endlessly. couple that with the fact that tadashi eats like a monster. he doesn't understand why everyone laughs at him at mealtimes, poor guy. 
> 
> the other day i was looking at a cat and it sort of just went up to the neighbour's fence and pushed its face against it. and i think hiro is a cat in a boy's body and i can't stop thinking of him just. pushing his face into things. between stair railings. through the gap in the door. into tadashi's personal space.
> 
> Emma: Tadashi reading a book and hiro just setting his head on it or pushing his head in the space between tadashi's arms to get attention. tadashi reading. hiro unzips Tada's coat. hiro enters jacket and zips back. rubs himself on tadashi for comfort. he probably loses his page. life is unfair.
> 
> i'm accepting [writing commissions!](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/tagged/kal's-commissions) please consider me!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got it bad, kid.

 

 

 

“ _You sound different on the phone.”_

 

Hiro almost drops it. He catches it midair, scrambling to put it back to his ear and swearing softly under his breath. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem if he actually did drop it (he built the stupid thing, who cares if it breaks) except it would probably be kind of rude to have to have the call cut out when Tadashi’s just said hello.

 

“Is this a good different or a bad different?” He sounds more nervous than coy, but whatever.

 

Tadashi snorts. “ _Like a twelve-year-old different.”_

 

Hiro puts a hand to his chest in outrage before he remembers that Tadashi can’t see it. “At least _I_ don’t sound like a chain-smoker.” It’s a lie. Hiro considers how appropriate it would be to tell Tadashi to quit stripping and start work at a phone sex hotline instead, but decides against.

 

“ _Thanks, but I don’t smoke. I just woke up, that’s all.”_

 

Hiro pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. “It’s noon.”

 

“ _I was working late last night. I like to sleep, okay?”_

 

“I get it, I get it,” Hiro flops over in bed and grins stupidly into the comforter. Mochi’s sitting on his pillow for moral support, and Hiro kicks his feet in childish excitement. “So, uhm, we never did decide on a place.”

 

“ _Oh, right, I forgot about that. You want me to come over?”_

 

Hiro raises himself onto his elbows to survey his bedroom. There are robot parts on every available surface, and possibly more clothes on the floor than in the cupboard, and he thinks the iPod may have built itself a fortress out of the empty pizza box Hiro’s left on his desk. Impressive, actually, considering the lack of opposable thumbs. And hands. “My room is kind of a mess right now.”

 

“ _I’ve seen your room before.”_

 

“That was before my chemistry kit exploded all over the ceiling. Honey Lemon gave it to me, so I’m not sure what was in it, but I think the purple spots are on their way to coming to life.”

 

“ _That is both awesome and disgusting. What’s your alternative, Dr Frankenstein?”_

 

“Library?”

 

“ _I dunno, we might piss off the librarians. My high school experience tells me that study dates tend to get a little loud.”_

 

Hiro exhales slowly through his nose. _He doesn’t mean that, he just doesn’t know what he’s saying._ “My garage? Or, no, actually, my aunt’s around, she might kick you out. What about your garage?”

 

“ _Ugh, no, Mr Matsuda keeps calling me ‘Sunflower’ thanks to you.”_

 

“Well now you’re making me want to go there.”

 

” _No. I’m at home, anyway, I don’t feel like going all the way there when I don’t have to actually work.”_ He pauses, and Hiro watches Mochi rapidly turn into a catloaf on his pillow. “ _Actually, since I’m at home, d’you wanna just come here? I mean, it’s kind of a dump, but it’ll do.”_

 

Hiro’s heart attempts to fall into his stomach. “Come again?”

 

” _My apartment,”_ Tadashi says, sounding as doubtful as Hiro feels. “ _Y_ _ou don’t have to if you don’t want to, I was just saying that it might be a good idea because, y’know, I live here and--”_

 

“Okay,” Hiro blurts out, and then clears his throat. Mochi looks up at him. Hiro sits up in bed. “I mean – uh, if you’re sure you’re okay with it, I can come over. You came over the last time, anyway, so I guess it’s fair.”

 

“ _Oh. Uh, okay,”_ says Tadashi, sounding mildly surprised. “ _Are you – alright, uh, cool. Should I – do you need my address?”_

 

“You can send me your location,” Hiro says, clutching at his bedsheets. Mochi gets up and ambles over towards him, and Hiro clutches the cat instead. “Do you, uh, I can use my GPS? Are you near any bus stations, or the trams?”

 

“ _Tram,”_ says Tadashi. “ _On the blue line. You want directions?”_

 

“I’ll manage,” Hiro says, chewing his lip. Mochi mewls in protest at being squished, and Hiro shushes it. He thinks about bringing over food, stomach twisting as the word _bribery_ flashes in his skull in neon lights. “Uh. Lunch?”

 

“ _I’ll order a pizza when you get here,”_ says Tadashi. “ _You’re always feeding me, it’s about time I returned the favour.”_

 

“Okay,” Hiro says, sagging slightly in relief. Mochi bats at his chest. Hiro turns its ear inside out maliciously. “So, I’ll leave in a few?”

 

“ _Sure. Should take you about twenty minutes. I’ll, uh, clean up a little, I guess.”_

 

Hiro wonders if he’s talking about his apartment or himself. He can sort of imagine Tadashi lounging around in bed, still in his underwear, smelling of sleep and hair all rumpled. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “’Kay. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

 

He hangs up the phone and bites his fingernails. Mochi yowls at him piteously until he relents and fixes its ear. “I may be getting in way over my head, here.”

 

 

 

 

The cat blinks at him. Hiro sighs, because as much as Mochi is a good listener, it’s not very good at giving any actual advice. “Okay. Okay, this is, uh, not so bad. He invited me over so I’m totally welcome. I go over to Fred’s place all the time. This is a normal thing that normal friends do and all of this is totally normal. There is no reason for me to feel like throwing myself down the stairs. I should take a shower, shouldn’t I?”

 

Mochi mewls in agreement. Hiro slaps his own cheeks to snap himself out of whatever funk he’s in (it doesn’t work) and releases the cat to get out of bed and strip his shirt off. Hopping to get his legs out of his shorts, he shuffles off to the bathroom to scrub his skin pink even though he’d actually taken a shower just this morning.

 

And he’s using some girly hand-me-down perfume from his aunt, so sue him. Nobody’s complained about him smelling like a strawberry before, so there’s no reason to feel self-conscious. What is he even worried about? It’s not like he and Tadashi are strangers at this point. Hell, they’ve even _slept together._

 

Uh. Bad idea, thinking about that, Hiro realises as he stands in front of his closet, towel wrapped around him tight. The cat’s gone and fucked off downstairs, so Hiro’s left alone with his thoughts. Abandoning his pile of clean shirts, he goes back into the bathroom to low-dry his hair, making it poof up like a dandelion so he has to wrestle it back down after.

 

 _“_ This is not an attempt to do anything other than study,” he tells himself, voice drowned out by the noise of the hair dryer. “He doesn’t want that. _I_ don’t want that. Do I? No. I mean, that would honestly just ruin it. I’m worrying about nothing. This is a normal friend thing. A study date is not a regular date.”

 

Does he even _want_ a regular date? His stomach does flip-flop pleasantly at the thought, but if he had to choose between being friends with Tadashi and being…friends who got really weird around each other and eventually drifted apart, he’d really rather stick with the first option. “I mean, he’s hot and everything,” he mumbles to himself, “but Honey Lemon is right. There’s no sense in losing any sleep over a boy, no matter how cute he is. Even if he did invite you to his house where you’re going to teach him whatever you know about robotics. Oh my god, I’m in a shoujo manga.”

 

He does need to get dressed eventually, he realises as he’s attempting to style his hair into something that doesn’t look quite like a bird’s nest. He should get it cut, probably, maybe a little shorter in the back so it lies flat. It would be nice to have hair that increased in length instead of volume as it grew. He manages to sweep it to the side a little so he doesn’t look too much like a surprised puff. Maybe he could get it cut like Tadashi's—

 

 _“Stop thinking about Tadashi,”_ he grumbles under his breath, coming back out of the bathroom and pulling on a green v-neck at random. He’ll have to hurry if he doesn’t want to be late. Are white jeans unfashionable? Whatever, these are thin and better for the weather anyway, and Tadashi’s not gonna care. Would be nice to be a girl, he’d be able to wear skirts and stuff too. Not that there’s anything really stopping him now, actually, except he’d probably want to start shaving his legs for it and that’s a habit that’s more trouble than it’s worth.

 

And, there’s nothing else to stall with, because he’s dressed and he’s got his wallet and all his books and his tablet in his backpack. Sighing, he sticks his head out the doorway and tiptoes downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps and dashing through the crowded café before his aunt notices that he’s going out.

 

 

 

 

He’s jittery all the way to Tadashi’s, and he tries to distract himself by guessing what Tadash’s apartment must look like. The little blue icon on his GPS blinks at him cheerfully, and Hiro tugs his hoodie a little closer around his shoulders. It’s a light grey one, this time, with a monster on the front. It’s a little warm on the tram since there’s no air conditioning, but comforting all the same. The smooth, automated voice announces the next stop and Hiro briefly considers just sitting where he is until the tram makes its eventual way back to the Lucky Cat.

 

But that would be incredibly stupid. He’s already kind of late as it is, and he’d agreed to meet Tadashi, and he’d never forgive himself if he copped out now. Palms sweaty, he wobbles to his feet and hops off the tram before it’s even really come to a stop, the robotic voice on his phone telling him to take a left turn into some dinky alley that smells bizarrely of beef stew.

 

 _You have reached your destination,_ his phone informs him helpfully. Hiro looks around. This neighbourhood isn’t one he’s ever been in before. It’s very different from home, actually, the streets narrow and cramped and kind of dim even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. Tadashi’s building is just as skinny as everything else in San Fransokyo, and Hiro takes a deep breath and rings on the buzzer for number two-oh-two and waits.

 

Tadashi’s voice crackles over the intercom. “ _Pizza?”_

 

“No, Hiro.”

 

_“Ew. Hang on, I’ll let you in.”_

 

Hiro cracks a grin and tugs the door open at the beep, making his way up the narrow staircase and into a corridor with three doors on each side. Tadashi’s waiting just outside the stairwell.

 

He’s wearing cut-offs and a hoodie and he looks a lot happier than Hiro’s seen him recently, and Hiro wonders if that’s because he’s actually had the chance to sleep today. Hiro gives him a tiny wave and follows Tadashi into his apartment, peering over the man’s shoulder as he opens up the door. The hinges squeak when Tadashi lets him in, and Hiro plods after him and looks around in interest.

 

It’s…slightly bigger than the box Hiro’s sneakers came in. Tadashi kicks off his flip flops and Hiro kneels to undo his laces, taking in the white walls and scratched wooden floors and ratty old couch in the corner. There’s a coffee table but no TV, and a couple of mismatched rugs strewn on the floor, and a tiny kitchenette that Hiro goes over to out of curiosity. It’s got a microwave and a mini fridge, and some plastic plants hanging over the sink. “Where’s your _bed?”_

 

“Up there,” Tadashi says, leaning over the kitchen counter and pointing upwards. Hiro leans over the counter to look, and realises that there’s a bed built into a shelf-thing on the ceiling.

 

“What the hell, why?”

 

“To save space. It’s called a loft,” Tadashi says, walking away and flopping onto the couch. Hiro notices a ladder leading to the bed and goes over to investigate. “No, don’t climb into my bed, I haven’t washed the sheets.”

 

“You’re gross,” Hiro says, even both they both know that Tadashi’s spartan studio apartment is far cleaner than Hiro’s bedroom will ever be. He wanders around, poking his head into open cupboards to see what’s inside, scoffing at the rows of instant noodles Tadashi’s got instead of actual food. “Do you live off ramen?”

 

“I don’t have a stove, doofus. And let me put it this way, I can buy two apples or ten packs of ramen. Which am I gonna choose?”

 

“You need serious help. You’ve got a tomato in here that’s halfway to becoming ketchup,” Hiro says, shutting the fridge and padding back into the living room to put his bag on the floor. Tadashi moves his feet to give Hiro some space on the couch. His toolbox is on the coffee table. “So, I brought all my books. You wanna check them out?”

 

Tadashi sits up. “Sure.”

 

 

 

 

“Alright. I’ve got Robotics, Mechanics, Math, Coding and Quantum Mechanics, although the last one isn’t gonna be much help to you.” He tugs his textbooks out of his bag as he talks, and Tadashi leans over to see. “I think the first thing you want to do is think about what you want to build. There’s usually a lot of sweet tech at these expos, but it varies. Some people build robots, some people write code, some people work entirely in theory. Honey Lemon made this huge ball of tungsten carbide turn pink, and then it exploded. It was pretty sick.”

 

Tadashi tilts his head. “Is her name really Honey Lemon?”

 

“Nope. But you’ll find out what her real name is when you get in.”

 

Tadashi looks at his toes. He’s got pretty big feet, Hiro notices. “And if I don’t?”

 

Hiro sighs, and then bumps their shoulders together. “Don’t be nervous. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

 

“That doesn’t make me any less nervous,” Tadashi says ruefully. “I feel like I’m out of my depth.”

 

“Fred says that fear is the luxury of a man who has something to lose,” Hiro says. “You have nothing to lose, so you probably shouldn’t be afraid.”

 

Tadashi opens his mouth, and then shuts it. “I don’t know if that comforts me.”

 

Hiro shrugs. “That’s Fred. I can’t tell if he’s the best thing that ever happened to me or the worst.”

 

“Right.” Reaching across Hiro’s lap to flip open the robotics textbook, Tadashi purses his lips and hums. “I’m not entirely sure what to make yet, but I’m thinking it’ll be something mechanical. That’s what I know, anyway, so it’s probably a safe bet.”

 

“Okay,” Hiro says, handing him the book. “This is a good start. Anything else?”

 

Tadashi thinks for a second. “I’d want it to be something practical, I guess. I don’t know enough about robotics to be able to play with theory.”

 

“Fair enough. What field?”

 

Tadashi shrugs. Hiro scratches his chin.

 

“Well, what did you build the first time around? What did you submit when you applied back then?”

 

Tadashi glances at the floor, and then back at Hiro. Hiro tries his best to look encouraging. “It was an – well, an arm, kinda. I designed it to look like a prosthetic, but I’d intended for it to be used to help people. With, like, mechanical tasks, y’know? Like those robots doctors use to do surgery sometimes, except better.”

 

“Okay, yeah, that’s good. You have three options – you can fix up the old design, or build off of it and make it better, or scrap it entirely and start with a new concept. Which’ll it be?”

 

Tadashi chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’m a little attached to the design,” he admits, “although I took it apart a long time ago. I’ve still got the schematics, though, so – wait, there’s the doorbell. Must be the pizza. Could you get some beers out of the fridge?”

 

“Sure,” Hiro says, watching Tadashi heave himself off the couch with an old man sigh and slip his flip-flops back on so he can answer the main door. Hiro hops off the couch and goes to the fridge for a couple of Tadashi’s shitty beer cans.

 

 

 

 

The smell of cloying cheese is strong when Tadashi gets back and sits the box on the table. He’s ordered far too much for two people, although Hiro supposes the guy does eat a lot. He hands Tadashi a beer and plops himself back onto the sofa, taking a sip of his own and immediately wrinkling his nose at it. Tadashi laughs and takes it from him.

 

“Here, I’ll show you what I built the last time,” he says, tugging an ancient laptop out from under the coffee table and flipping it open. It takes an entire six seconds to boot up, and Hiro makes a silent vow to take the fucking thing apart and upgrade it the moment Tadashi has his back turned.

 

“Your background looks like an old lady’s.”

 

“I like puppies,” says Tadashi mildly, tapping the screen and pulling up some very neatly-drawn schematics. Hiro takes a bite of his pizza and shuffles closer to squint at it. With his clean hand, he zooms in on the drawing right in the middle, a robotic arm covered in _something._

 

“Plastic?” he asks, tapping at it to read the notes written next to it in block letters.

 

“Vinyl. Medical bot, remember? Don’t want it hurting anybody.”

 

“So you made the outside soft. That’s…pretty clever, actually,” Hiro says, taking another bite of pepperoni. “Just the arm?”

 

“Just the arm. Think of it like an automated surgeon.”

 

“So it would still require a surgeon to operate it? I mean, there’s be someone standing by the controls and using it remotely?”

 

“Kind of. I mean, it’s remote-controlled in _this_ design, but my grand plan was to pre-programme it so it was semi-autonomous. Thought it might help lighten the load on medical personnel if routine tasks could be done mechanically. Probably a little ambitious for my skill level,” he laughs humourlessly.

 

Hiro pats his arm. Tadashi’s on his second slice when Hiro’s jut halfway through his first. “Big inventions start with big dreams. What went wrong?”

 

Tadashi shrugs. “It freaked out. I tried to get it to crack an egg open, to show that it was capable of delicate movements, but it sort of exploded. And then it hit me in the face.”

 

Hiro winces in sympathy. “Okay, not ideal. Did you code it yourself?”

 

“Tried to, anyway. I got all my info from the internet and the library, so I suppose I didn’t do a very good job.”

 

“No, that’s still pretty impressive,” Hiro says, half distracted as he looks over the rest of it. “My coding’s not the best, so I’m not sure how much I can help you, but two heads are better than one. So you wanna stick to the same design?”

 

Tadashi frowns at the screen. “Dunno. I like the concept but I get the feeling this won’t work. Hand me the chili flakes?”

 

Hiro hands him the chili flakes. “Then let’s take a couple steps back. Why a medical bot?”

 

Tadashi shrugs again. “It’ll help people. I wanna help.”

 

Hiro’s heart flutters. “What are you, some kinda Disney prince?”

 

“Shut up,” Tadashi pinches him. “What does that make you, a princess? You look the part, anyway.”

 

“That’s offensive. Unless I get to be Mulan.”

 

“Because she’s Asian or because she’s a chick dressed up as a dude? Although that would explain your eyelashes.”

 

Hiro raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a chick.”

 

“Are you telling the truth? How can I be sure? Maybe you’re a girl with a really deep voice.”

 

“You’ve literally seen me naked.”

 

 

Tadashi’s mouth snaps shut, and Hiro, in a moment of clarity, slowly turns pinks. “I – quit distracting me. We’ve got more important things to worry about than whether or not I’m a girl.”

 

“You started it,” Tadashi mutters, taking a very large bite of pizza. The man eats like a monster. “Anyway,” he says with his mouth full, “medical bot. But maybe not this one.”

 

“You need to think of a purpose,” Hiro says, taking another slice. “When I did my entry, I basically built off the concept of Megabot. I made lots and lots of microbots that could be remote-controlled to work together. They’re magnetically linked, just like Megabot, and they’ve got a similar remote. The only thing I really needed to do was to think of a purpose, and then figuring out the details came later.”

 

Tadashi nods. “A purpose. Well, it’s gotta help people.”

 

“Be more specific,” Hiro says, pulling off a slice of pepperoni and putting it into his mouth. “What’s it gonna do? Is it gonna do surgery?”

 

“No,” says Tadashi slowly. “That might be too difficult.”

 

“What’s the problem you want to fix? What are you hoping to achieve?”

 

Tadashi falls silent. Hiro watches him eat, the clock on Tadashi’s wall ticking in the background and ceiling fan wobbling as it goes. It’s weirdly calm, a little like being in the garage, but more intimate than that. There’s no boss waiting in the other room, and no half-dissected cars taking up space between them. Just Tadashi on one end of the couch and Hiro on the other, knees almost touching and fingers a little greasy. Tadashi, for once, looks exactly like a college student.

 

“I built the microbots because I was thinking of my aunt,” Hiro says finally. Tadashi looks at him. “She’s…busy. She has her hands full, like, all the time, with me and the café and all. So the goal was, make something that could do the work of several people at once. And it turned out that I already had the elements of it with Megabot, so I knew where to go from there. So what’s your problem, Tadashi?”

 

Tadashi mulls over his pizza slice, staring at his schematics without really seeing them. “Sick people,” he says quietly. Hiro says nothing, watching him intently for some sort of breakthrough.

 

Tadashi looks at him uncertainly, chewing at his lip like he’s not sure quite whether he wants to talk. Hiro keeps his expression neutral, head tilted curiously as he waits.

 

“My dad was…sick,” Tadashi says eventually. “I don’t think I ever remember a time when he was healthy. He never really wanted to go to the hospital, though, so he’d only get help when it started getting really bad and I’d call the ambulance on him. He didn’t make it in the end, but in between he was always kind of, well, not at a hundred per cent.”

 

Hiro nods in understanding. Tadashi glances at him, and then takes another, much smaller bite of pizza. “What did your dad need?” Hiro asks.

 

Tadashi considers this. “Someone around. Someone other than me, I mean. To look out for him. I did my best, but I was a kid.”

 

Hiro squeezes friend’s knee. “Did you have a mom?”

 

Tadashi shrugs. “No clue who she was. Dad never used to say a word about her. So I’d want to build a…guardian, I guess,” he says, and then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “That sounds pretty lame, huh?”

 

Hiro smiles at him. “No, it doesn’t. What kind of guardian are you thinking?”

 

“Hmm. A babysitter, maybe? I think my dad might’ve gone to the doctor more if he hadn’t had to look out for me.”

 

Hiro frowns. _It wasn’t your fault,_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t go to sleep some nights wondering what his aunt’s life would have been like if she hadn’t had to raise him. “He made the choice he wouldn’t regret,” he says instead.

 

Tadashi offers him half a smile. “So, a robot nanny,” he says. “Not really helpful to sick people, unless they’ve got kids.” He pauses, worrying his lip. “Unless the nanny was for the patient instead of the family. Not a nanny. A nurse.”

 

Hiro looks at Tadashi’s schematics again. “A robot nurse?”

 

“Maybe,” Tadashi says slowly, setting his pizza crust down. “I wouldn’t need to programme it for surgery, since it wouldn’t need to be specialized. It would need to care for people. Keep them safe, respond to emergencies, that sort of thing.” Hastily wiping his fingers on a napkin, he tugs his laptop closer to him and starts to type. He spells everything wrong in his haste, but it’s readable.

 

“Emergency response,” Tadashi says as he types. “Care. Comfort. First aid. Resuscitation, maybe. Observing the patient for changes. Recognising warning signs and intercepting before the problem happens. Personalised healthcare, to look out for you when you’re not at the hospital.”

 

Hiro watches his fingers fly over the keyboard. He knows better than to interrupt, leaning back against the sofa and smiling as Tadashi continues to mutter to himself. The flurry of activity dies down as Hiro chews on his lunch, and Tadashi goes still as he stares into space.

 

“It’s a _robot,”_ he says suddenly. “It’s gonna freak people out if they have the Terminator watching their every move.”

 

Hiro nudges Tadashi’s shin with his foot. “You can work the problems out as you go along. Robots can be cute, you just need to change the way it looks is all. You’ve got a good idea, and it means something to you. I’d say this is going awesome.”

 

Tadashi goes back to chewing at his cheek. “I don’t even know where to start.”

 

Hiro swipes his finger across the laptop screen to bring up the old schematics. “Start here. What can you use?”

 

“The base structure, maybe,” Tadashi says. “And the vinyl. And the dexterity, but that’s gotta be fixed.”

 

“Good,” Hiro says. He plops his books onto Tadashi’s lap with a huff, making the other man jump slightly in surprise. “Now you need to start your homework. You’re not gonna build anything if you don’t have the basics down perfectly.”

 

Tadashi lets out a breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at one of these.”

 

Hiro shrugs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to anyone’s house besides mine and Fred’s, and I’d say I’m doing just fine.”

 

Tadashi looks at the books, and then looks at Hiro uncertainly. “You’ll help, right?”

 

“ _Somebody_ has to. And I’d have to be a monster to say no to that face.”

 

Tadashi pouts at him theatrically. Hiro rolls his eyes. “Stop that, you look ridiculous.” Leaning forward, he points to the Robotics textbook, and then the Mechanics one. “Start with this. If you want to know how something’s going to work, look at this one. And if you want to know how to _make_ it work, look at Coding. “

 

Tadashi nods along. “Are you planning on tutoring me?”

 

“Only if you don’t understand something. It’s your robot,” Hiro says, reaching into his backpack and tugging out his holo-tablet. Tadashi looks at it curiously. “But I’m gonna study with you.”

 

“Finals,” says Tadashi, blinking. “Are you sure you should be here? I mean, exams are important, you shouldn’t be wasting time on me, I’ll be fine with these.”

 

Hiro ignores him and slides the screen of his tablet open. “I’m studying, aren’t I? And you’re here to make sure I don’t get distracted. Besides, going over the basics with you will help me understand them better myself.”

 

Tadashi seems unconvinced. “I don’t know about this, Hiro.”

 

“I do,” says Hiro, planting his bare feet in Tadashi’s lap. Tadashi tickles them, and Hiro kicks his stomach. “Now hush. You had, like, five slices of pizza and a beer. It’s time to work.”

 

“Yes mom,” Tadashi snorts. Hiro ignores him resolutely, but does crack a private smile when he hears pages start to flip.

 

 

 

It’s surprisingly easy to work right next to someone, considering Hiro’s used to studying alone. It actually takes quite a while before Tadashi has to ask him for clarification, and even then it’s about one of Hiro’s messily scribbled footnotes. Hiro’s stomach is full and Tadashi’s hole-in-the-wall apartment is surprisingly comfortable, although that might only be because Hiro can feel Tadashi’s warmth against his feet.

 

He’s not entirely sure exactly when he falls asleep, although the sky’s just beginning to go pink when Tadashi taps him on the nose to wake him. Hiro grunts and tries to roll over. Tadashi catches him before he can fall off the couch.

 

“Gotta head to work in a few hours, buddy,” he says, grinning at the half-focused glare Hiro gives him for daring to wake him up. “Come on, time to wake up.”

 

Hiro yawns at him. “I gotta pee.”

 

“Bathrooms are down the hall, last door on the left.”

 

Hiro groans. “Too far.”

 

“Then what are you gonna do?”

 

“Pee in the sink.”

 

Tadashi pinches the soft skin of his stomach. “Don’t you _dare.”_

 

 _“_ Alright, _alright,”_ Hiro wheezes, tugging his shirt down over his poor exposed belly. “Get off me so I can leave.”

 

Tadashi untangles himself from Hiro and stands, stretching his arms above his head and heading off to stick the empty pizza box in the trash. Hiro yawns again and stands, filching Tadashi’s flip flops and making his way to the bathroom, shoes slapping against the ground as he goes.

 

There’s a middle-aged man in a turban washing his hands when Hiro comes in, and he does a double take when their eyes meet in the mirror. “Number five?” he says, whipping around.

 

Hiro balks. “Who?”

 

The man grabs him by the shoulders with slightly wet hands. Hiro squeaks. “Do you live in number five?”

 

“No?”

 

“Oh.” The man deflates, obviously put-out. “Sorry, then. Go about your business.”

 

“Thank you?” Hiro says helplessly. The man shuffles off. Hiro uses the bathroom and makes sure to check for strangers before he dares venture out into the corridor.

 

“Some guy yelled ‘number five’ at me when I tried to pee,” he reports when he gets back to Tadashi’s.

 

Tadashi looks up from putting the unopened can of beer in the fridge. “Was he wearing a turban?”

 

“Yes. Does he do this often?”

 

“Yeah, don’t worry about him. He’s pretty nice, just kind of odd. There’s a nurse and an old Russian lady here too, and number five. Nobody’s ever met them, though. Rajpal gets very excited about it.”

 

“I worry about the people you live with,” Hiro says distrustfully, packing all his things back into his bag. "I’m leaving my first year textbooks with you, but I’m taking Quantum Physics and Math with me. Unless you want them?”

 

“Not at the moment,” Tadashi says, coming back to join him. “Hey. Thanks for today, I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”

 

Hiro shrugs as if to say, _that’s what I’m here for._ “We’re friends. This is friend stuff.”

 

“Yeah, it is friend stuff,” Tadashi grins back. He opens his arms out for a hug, and Hiro goes to him obediently. Tadashi ruffles his hair like he’s petting a dog. “If I can ever do anything for you…you know where to find me, right?”

 

“I do,” Hiro says. He can just barely see over Tadashi’s shoulder, which is nice. He’s still growing.

 

Tadashi releases him, and Hiro swings his bag over his shoulder. “What’re you wearing today, anyway?”

 

Tadashi pinches him again. “I’ll find out when I get there.”

 

“I hope it’s the playboy bunny outfit, I liked that one.”

 

“Ugh, no, not the high heels again, my feet hurt just thinking about it.”

 

“I’m pretty impressed that you ran all that way without breaking an ankle,” Hiro says as Tadashi leads him out the door. They go downstairs together, Hiro first, and it creaks as they walk. “Only other person I know who can do that is Honey Lemon.”

 

“I want to meet this Honey Lemon,” Tadashi says, flicking the back of Hiro’s head. “And let me remind you I had to run because you decided to sell me out to yakuza.”

 

“I saw a chance and I took it. I saved both our skins,” Hiro says matter-of-factly, turning around to say goodbye to Tadashi when they reach the door. “I’ll see you around, man.”

 

“Bye. Thanks again for everything, and get home safe.”

 

“I will,” Hiro says, waving over his shoulder. He’s kind of antsy despite having just woken up, like there’s something missing that he can’t quite put his finger on. He finds himself chewing on his lips as he gets on the tram.

 

 

 

 

The energy builds all the way back home, until he’s bursting through the café doors and bolting upstairs and startling the cat for no reason. He grabs Mochi and swings it around in an uncoordinated tango, veins bubbling and steps springing as he bounces around his room.

 

He nearly falls over when he pirouettes into Aunt Cass. Scooting back several steps automatically, he blinks wide at the raised eyebrow she’s giving him. “Hi?”

 

She crosses her arms. “And where have you been all day, young man?”

 

Hiro falters. “Fred’s?”

 

“You don’t dress up to go to Fred’s.”

 

“I’m not dressed up.”

 

“You’re wearing pants that reach your ankles and a shirt that fits.”

 

“Point.” Gingerly, Hiro sets the cat on the floor, where it waddles off looking more resigned than anything. “I was studying.”

 

“You were with that boy.”

 

Hiro shuffles his feet sheepishly. “I _was_ studying, though.”

 

Aunt Cass frowns at him for an impressive amount of time, considering that it’s Aunt Cass. Hiro deflates.

 

“I went to his apartment. He’s going to apply to SFIT, and I’m helping him come up with a design. I’ve got my books in my bag and everything,” he says, pointing to where his backpack lies haphazardly on the floor.

 

“You didn’t get up to anything illegal, this time?”

 

“Of course not,” he says pleadingly. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask your permission first, it’s just, I just…”

 

She sighs. Hiro fiddles with hem of his shirt as she regards him critically, the high of a whole evening spent with Tadashi slowly starting to melt away. “What am I going to do with you?”

 

“Ground me, probably,” Hiro mumbles, staring at the floor, suddenly ashamed.

 

The floor creaks a little as she comes closer, and she cups his face in her hands and tilts it down to look at her. “I worry that this boy is a bad influence on you, Hiro.”

 

“I think I’m the bad influence, Aunt Cass.”

 

“You did get him arrested,” she snorts. He grins at her sheepishly.

 

She runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly,” she sighs again, although she seems more fond than exasperated now. “Promise me you’ll be careful, alright? And warn me next time if you’re going out somewhere.”

 

Hiro brightens up instantly. “Really? I can still be friends with him?”

 

“I think we both know that I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to.”

 

He at least has the grace to look contrite. She kisses his cheek and steps away. “Where does he live, anyway? Does he have a family?”

 

“Downtown, and nope. He’s on his own in this little apartment, it’s kinda cute. No stove or anything, though,” he adds slyly.

 

“Then what does he eat?”

 

“Instant ramen and pizza, mostly.”

 

The corners of her mouth tighten. “That’s a terrible diet. Tell him we’re feeding him the next time you see him.”

 

“Thanks, Aunt Cass,” Hiro grins. He softens, and then pulls his aunt into a hug. “Thank you for understanding.”

 

She pats his back. “Just don’t get into any more trouble, and if you do anything illegal I don’t want to hear about it.”

 

“Scouts honour,” Hiro says, releasing her and giving her a mock salute. She shakes her head at him and turns around to head downstairs, apron tied around her waist so she can head back to work the dinner shift.

 

 

Hiro opens his mouth. “Aunt Cass?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What made you change your mind?”

 

 She turns. Her smile is a little sad, although Hiro’s not entirely sure why. “I haven’t seen you dancing with the cat in a long time, sweetheart.”

 

 

 

He watches her go. Her footsteps thump downstairs with a little more grace than his own, and he settles himself on the edge of his bed and kicks off his shoes. His stomach is twisting itself into confusingly pleasant knots. He falls back onto the mattress and smiles stupidly at the sentient purple splotches on the ceiling.

 

 

His iPod rolls over to ask if he can feel the love tonight.This time Hiro doesn’t even threaten to throw it out the window.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is stupid and everything is stupid and i regret nothing. also this is unedited (moreso than usual) so there are probably mistakes but it's 2 am and i dont care about anything anymore.
> 
> i must dedicate this chapter to [rypherographer, ](http://rhyperographer.tumblr.com/) who is truly an angel among men. please shower them with the love and attention that they deserve. 
> 
> annie basically picked out the apartment. [have](https://gyazo.com/65857f1cef460208ad088809d587b75a) [ some](https://gyazo.com/d84caebb148ce9882758f8e7d177679f) [ photos](https://gyazo.com/bba9d39af9e2b38d6c6e1746e0522b2b). 
> 
> Sex tips from kal:  
> -kiss your way down his body  
> -kitten lick to the tip of his cock  
> -put your mouth at the base  
> -hold his dick to your ear like a phone  
> -order pizza
> 
> i cant stop thinking about hiro drawing eyebrows on the cat.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is that on the fan? Is that...is that actually shit? Oh my god. Oh my god, that's fucked up.

 

 

Life goes on.

 

Hiro studies. And other stuff, obviously; he hangs out with his friends and helps out at the café and does all the kind of things he normally does, aside from the bot fighting. He doesn’t do the bot fighting, because his schedule is full, and honestly he doesn’t have a death wish because his aunt is keeping a closer eye on him than usual.

 

Time passes by with a kind of _whoosh._ Hiro’s doing alright. He’s on top of his work and he still goes in to see Callaghan sometimes to talk and steal some candy. Hiro’s still kind of stuck on the Robotic’s project, but he’s got ages to hand that in, so that’s fine.

 

But Tadashi.

 

Tadashi is a problem.

 

Not overtly, though. He’s not doing anything _wrong,_ per se; they’re turning out to be good friends, and they meet up fairly often to study together and go over ideas for Tadashi’s design for the expo. The man devours information like a very handsome sponge, and Hiro’s more than happy to offer pointers and tips and to talk him through the more difficult parts of the syllabus. Tadashi does get a little gloomy sometimes about his prospects, but Hiro is quick to verbally slap some sense into him. The moments are few and far between anyway, which Hiro takes as a very good sign.

 

The project’s progressing, too. It’s not going very fast, but it’s going. Tadashi’s decided on a mechanical nurse, and he says he wants to start small; a few basic procedures, recognizing warning signs, contacting emergency services, that sort of thing. A personal healthcare companion. Maybe he’ll even be able to include some sort of system for monitoring vitals, although that’s a plan to be looked at later.

 

Things are going smoothly, for once, so that’s not the problem.

 

The problem is that Tadashi’s the kind of flesh-eating bacteria that _grows._

 

Hiro realises this as he’s in the middle of taking a shower. He realises it because he has shampoo in his eye, and it stings like Satan himself ejaculated into his eye socket. More specifically, he finds himself wondering, as he washes out the foam, if this ever happens to Tadashi considering his hair is so short. Does Tadashi ever get shampoo into facial orifices that don’t need shampooing? Does he save on shampoo since he must only use a little? Does he bother with conditioner? Hiro has to, partly because his hair is kind of poofy but mostly because Honey Lemon insists on it. How does Tadashi keep his hair so straight? Or does he have one of those old man two-in-one soap cum shampoo things?

 

It occurs to him, as his eye is red and watery, that it’s kind of weird for him to be thinking of his friend in the shower. Not entirely _foreign,_ because Tadashi is attractive and Hiro is a teenaged boy with urges, but he tries not to do that too often. The weird thing is that he’s thinking of Tadashi in a completely inconsequential way, in between all his other thoughts. Tadashi’s become such an intrinsic part of the mental furniture that Hiro barely even notices himself thinking about him anymore.

 

The water comes off him in rivulets. It’s starting to get kind of lukewarm, actually, but Hiro doesn’t really notice because he’s busy staring at the tiles. How often does this happen? How many times has Tadashi invaded his thoughts? How often has Tadashi crept up in conversation without him noticing? Does everyone think he talks about nothing but Tadashi? Worse still, has Tadashi become so ingrained in his psyche that he’s not even worth talking about?

 

 _The shower is not a good place to be asking yourself existential questions,_ says a voice in his head that this time, thankfully, sounds like Fred’s. He shuts off the water. His eye still feels like a small taste of hellfire, but he bravely wraps his towel around his chest and makes his way out of the bathroom to sit in bed, leaving wet footprints on the floor. Something’s moving around on his desk that might be the iPod or might be splotches of that sentient purple goo, but Hiro pays it no attention. There are more important things to worry about, anyway, such as how he’s managed to let Tadashi infect his thoughts so thoroughly.

 

Tadashi hasn’t done anything noteworthy lately. More like, so many little things have built up over the months that they’ve started overflowing. How Tadashi looks when he eats, or his stupid sense of humour, or the endearingly old-fashioned clothes he likes to wear. He’s got all these cute little faults that aren’t really _faults,_ like his big ears and his weird taste in food or his crazy neighbours. Hiro has been accosted by Rajpal Singh more than once. Each time has him trudging back to Tadashi’s apartment with an armful of sweets and a head full of stories that probably aren’t true. And there’s the old lady who only speaks Russian and whom Hiro suspects is commenting on Tadashi’s ass every time they see each other.

 

And, honestly? Tadashi’s makes everything _worse,_ chasing all these little moments with big smiles and fleeting touches. If Hiro could just file away each butterfly Tadashi gives him and enjoy them in private, he would probably be fine. But the universe is not fair to Hiro Hamada, because Tadashi is disarming, and he slips in all these little backhanded compliments when Hiro’s trying to insult him, and he’s a huge puppy and he’s lovely and he’s everywhere and he keeps giving Hiro all these feelings that he _does not want._

 

 

“He’s hacked into my brain,” Hiro says in a tiny, horrified whisper.

 

The iPod helpfully suggests that he’s _killing me softly with his love._

 

The really sad thing is, the iPod is right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I am in way too deep.”

 

Fred ruffles Hiro’s hair kindly. The boy’s got his cheek pressed to the cool surface of the cafeteria table, even though he knows full well that it’s probably filthy. Honey Lemon frowns at him in concern, and pats him on the cheek that’s exposed to the rest of the world.

 

“Oh, Hiro. Liking someone can feel a little overwhelming sometimes. That doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world, you know?”

 

“I can’t even _turn it off,”_ Hiro almost whimpers. Honey Lemon pats him again, and he sighs. “This is torture. I catch myself thinking about him or talking about him and sometimes it’s like, oh my god there’s something wrong with me, and sometimes it’s like, I wonder if he spazzes out over _me?_ Which is dumb, because, of course he doesn’t, why _should_ he, but sometimes I think he does but I really don’t know for sure and I’m gonna _lose my mind.”_

 

Honey Lemon frowns. She manages to make it look concerned, whereas Hiro frowning always just looks annoyed (or pouty, as Fred is usually quick to point out). “I worry about you. It sounds like he’s sending you some mixed messages.”

 

Hiro makes an unintelligible noise. “To be honest, I can’t tell either. Is he into me or am I projecting? Am I looking for clues in meaningless gestures? Am I hoping for something other than friendship when there isn’t really any evidence for it? How do I know I’m even trying to help him out of the goodness of my heart and not because I’m secretly hoping it’ll make him like me back?”

 

“You’re not taking advantage of him by trying to help him through a tough spot, Hiro,” Honey Lemon says patiently, squeezing his shoulder gently. Her hair’s held back with a soft green headband, but it still tickles Hiro’s face as she leans over him. “And he seems to appreciate it and he wants to be your friend. That’s a good thing, right?”

 

“I don’t _know,”_ Hiro whines. “How do I even begin to figure out what’s going through his head?”

 

“You could ask him?” Fred offers, helping himself to one of Hiro’s tater tots. Hiro looks at him like he’s just suggested that he burn down a puppy orphanage.

 

“Are you crazy? I can’t ask him if he likes me, he _rejected_ me. He’ll think I’m a creep.” He groans. “Oh my god, I _am_ a creep.”

 

“You’re not a creep,” Honey says placatingly. “Sometimes it feels better to get your feelings out in the open. You might find your relationship improves because of it.”

 

“The problem is that you’re the one saying it,” Hiro points out. “You are physically impossible to hate, Honey. Me, not so much.”

 

“Oh, you’re way too hard on yourself. If he’s really your friend, he’ll at least try to understand where you’re coming from. Now I’m not saying you should straight-out ask him to date you, but it might be worthwhile to make it clear to him that you still, y’know, have feelings for him. You could tell him that you’d rather he was straightforward with you, or something. I’m sure he’ll respect that.”

 

“I don’t think I’d ever be able to look him in the eye again,” Hiro mumbles. Honey Lemon and Fred pat him in unison.

 

“It makes me sad to see you sad,” she sighs, glancing at her phone. “Maybe I should skip the next lecture...”

 

Hiro waves her off. “Go, be a good student. I don’t understand how your schedule is so full all the time.”

 

“It’s because of all the extra classes.” She stands, although she doesn’t look very happy about it. “Hiro, if you need anything at all, you know you can call me, right?”

 

“I know,” Hiro offers her a weak smile. “Have fun in class, Honey.”

 

She waves as she leaves. Fred appears unconcerned, finishing the last of Hiro’s abandoned lunch as he sighs and slumps back onto the table.

 

“I’m freaking out over nothing, aren’t I.”

 

“Yep,” says Fred airily. “I have truly no idea what set this off.”

 

Hiro sighs a second time. “I _really like_ him. I don’t want to lose him.”

 

“Why would you lose him? I thought everything was going fine.”

 

“They’re going _perfectly._ Which is why I know I’m going to fuck something up.”

 

Fred swats at him gently. “Hush. I won’t hear any more bad thoughts out of you. I think you’re overthinking things, man. Why not just go with the flow?”

 

Hiro grunts into the table. “I can’t go with the flow if I don’t know where it’s _taking_ me. What if this all turns to shit and he never speaks to me again?”

 

“You like being friends with him, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And things are going well between you, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you think he might really have a shot at getting into SFIT, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So chill out,” Fred reaches across the table to hold his hand. Hiro tries to bite it. It’s cute when Honey does it, but when Fred does it it just feels like Hiro’s being made fun of. “I think everything will turn out just fine.”

 

“What if it doesn’t?”

 

“Well it could probably go three ways. Either your crush fades and you stay regular friends, or it turns out he likes you back and you date.”

 

“What’s the third way?”

 

“He turns out to be a secret agent assigned to seduce you to steal your brains.”

 

“ _Freddie.”_

 

“I didn’t say it was _likely,_ I just said it was a possibility,” Fred says, digging around in Hiro’s bag for something sweet. He finds a lone pack of gummy worms that Hiro had never got around to eating, and tears it open without asking permission. “But the other two options aren’t bad. If you’re that worried about liking him, it might actually go away. Crushes do that. Remember Honey Lemon?”

 

Hiro shushes him. “We don’t talk about Honey Lemon. ‘Sides, you had a crush on her too.

 

“I don’t think there’s anyone on this campus who doesn’t have some sort of a crush on Honey Lemon.

 

Hiro makes a cursory attempt at sitting up, but slides back onto the table with a soft, sad noise. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“You could do nothing,” Fred says with his mouth full. “You could just wait for all of this to blow over. Or you could do something, like, ask him how he feels about you, and then see what happens.”

 

“The worst,” Hiro informs him. “The worst could happen.”

 

“I think you’re giving your boyfriend too much credit. No offense, but he sounds pretty damn clueless himself.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend, that’s the problem,” Hiro grumbles. “This blows. Things are great but all I can think about is how it might go wrong.”

 

“You’re probably gonna keep feeling like that until you do something about it or something happens _to_ you,” Fred says. “Like me and Honey Lemon said, you could wait for it to blow over, or you could deal with it. What even brought this on?”

 

Hiro scrubs his hands over his face and sits up properly, vowing this time to stay upright for at least five minutes. “I dunno. It’s like the more time I spend with him the more perfect he gets. He’s handsome and funny and now it turns out he’s a _genius,_ too. He understands so quickly and he asks so many questions and I think he gets coding better than _I_ do, and I’m a second year. I’ve been over to his house like five times now and he treats me like a friend and we text all the time and he keeps sending me these shitty memes and, and…”

 

“And you’re sort of in love with him.”

 

Hiro traces formless patterns on the table top with his index finger. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, but how are you even supposed to know when you’ve crossed the line from liking someone to loving them?”

 

“Do you feel differently about him than when you first asked him out?”

 

“Yes,” says Hiro after a pause. “I can’t really put my finger on it, this is all _new_ and weird and like…when I first met him, he made my heart beat really quickly, you know? He seemed so, I dunno, cool and mysterious and stuff. He was this hot stripper I met on my eighteenth birthday, and he was funny and hot and I thought, wow, I’d love to have a boyfriend like that.”

 

Fred considers this. “Sounds to me like you liked the idea of him more than you liked him.”

 

“I think I did,” Hiro says, frowning. “But now I _know_ things about him. You’d think the novelty would wear off a little and I’d start getting a more chill around him, and I _am,_ he’s pretty comfortable to be around, but…the other day I realized, I think about him _all the time._ I notice things for no reason. His favourite colour is green. I didn’t ask him that, I just noticed that he wears it a lot and his stuff is green. And I know that he’d be a hilarious drunk but I haven’t even seen him drunk, I just _know_ it, you know? And honestly I feel like, sometimes I want to come back to him and tell him all about my day, like I do with you guys, but sometimes I want to bring him _with_ me. Like, I wanna _be_ someone someday, but I wouldn’t want to do it without him. He’s got everything I don’t, and I feel like as long as I have him, I’m safe.” He falters, and then turns away. “Forget that, that was stupid.”

 

Fred wraps an arm around him. Hiro draws his legs up and hugs his knees to his chest, and Fred scoots closer on the bench so that Hiro can lean against his side. “It sounds like you’re feeling _something,_ my man. But you’re the only person who’s really gonna know what that something is.”

 

Hiro sighs. “I’m afraid,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to be the only person feeling like this, and I’m too afraid to ask him and I can’t figure it out myself.”

 

Fred squeezes him comfortingly. “Well, do you think he thinks of you differently? Like aside from being friendlier, does he act the same around you as he used to?”

 

“He seems to trust me a little more,” Hiro says. “He tells me things. And he’s not as stubborn about stuff, and I guess that he likes me at least as a friend, because he generally looks pretty happy to see me. But I don’t _know,”_ he groans and buries his face in his knees. “God, why did he have to be a _dude?_ Why couldn’t he have been a girl? Maybe then I wouldn’t like him so much.”

 

“But you _like_ girls.”

 

“Well why couldn’t he have been a _puppy?_ I could have handled getting attached to a stray puppy! A puppy would like me _back_! This is all a little much!”

 

Fred smiles at him consolingly. Partially consolingly, partially like he’s laughing at Hiro rather than with him. “I’d say he kind of is a puppy. He took you back to his garage and then came all the way over to your house to apologise for rejecting you.”

 

Hiro twirls his finger vaguely. “Other way round, he came over first.”

 

Fred blinks at him and lets go of his shoulders. “What?”

 

“He came over to apologise first, and then I got drunk when I ran into him after, and he took me back to the garage.”

 

“Why’d he bring you back to the garage, then?”

 

“Because he didn’t know the way home and I was too drunk to give him directions?”

 

Fred gives him a very long look. “Then how did he make it to your house the first time?”

 

Hiro opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “I don’t know.”

 

Fred stares at him. Hiro breaks into a cold sweat.

 

“I don—maybe he forgot,” he says hastily, gesturing as he tends to do when he gets nervous. “I mean, maybe he was taking me home and he realized that he didn’t remember the way that he took the last time, and then the next time he came over he must have looked it up because maps are a thing and he internet is really sophisticated nowadays and oh my god he _lied._ No. No, okay, there’s no need to panic, okay, Freddie, just, just calm down, there is an explanation, a perfectly rational one. I just need to find out what it is.”

 

Fred raises both eyebrows. “So he brought you back to his place for no reason. You absolutely sure there wasn’t another handy you’re not telling me about?”

 

“ _No!_ Stop using that word, oh my god, he didn’t give me a handy, at least not while I was _awake –_ no, stop putting thoughts in my head, he didn’t do that. He wouldn’t, I know he wouldn’t, and besides his boss comes in and out of his garage so it’s like he would have had the chance.”

 

“Well it’s good to know he’s not an absolute creep, but that doesn’t answer the other question.”

 

Hiro clutches at his hair. “How much freaking out is a good amount to be freaking out? Should I try to be calm? I feel like I should try to be calm. I should stop thinking about this.”

 

Fred shrugs. “Normally I’d tell you to do what you want, but this is a little shady even for me. If you needed a reason to talk to him, little man, I’d say this is it. Next move is yours.”

 

“This is way too much pressure.”

 

Fred pats him on the shoulder and tugs his backpack closer towards him, getting off the bench and patting his pockets to make sure he has all his things. Hiro blinks at him, and then checks his phone for the time. It’s two p.m. Fred adjusts his beanie as Hiro pouts at him. “I’m gonna go back to SFU”.

 

“You’re gonna just leave me?”

 

“I have a paper to turn in. I love you, man, but your love life is not worth thirty percent of my grade.

 

Hiro can’t really argue with him. He waves a hand dismissively and crosses his legs, turning away from Fred to frown at the table instead. “Fine, leave me here to rot.”

 

Fred offers him a lopsided grin. “You stay safe, bro. Tell me how it goes, huh?”

 

“Sure,” Hiro says hollowly. Fred wanders away and Hiro pointedly doesn’t think about the lecture he has in ten minutes that he’s probably going to be late to, but honestly there are more pressing matters to attend to and he can’t be distracted by whether or not black holes are portals into some other universe.

 

He sits still for so long that a bird mistakes him for a tree and tries to perch on him. Stomach twisting, Hiro tugs his phone out of his pocket and texts Tadashi to ask if he wants to hang out tomorrow.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Marshmallow,” says Tadashi.

 

Hiro blinks at him. They’re in Tadashi’s apartment again, stand fan on and making a racket as it blows warm air around the room. Tadashi’s left the window open, and Hiro’s only just noticed a jar on the windowsill full of fuzzy green _marimo_ floating around cheerfully. Hiro’s curled up on the loveseat. Tadashi’s managed to take up all the rest of the available space.

 

They’re about halfway through the Robotics textbook, and Tadashi’s been steadily ploughing through Coding with the tenacity of an angry bloodhound. He could have studied just fine on his own, probably, but he hadn’t seemed to mind Hiro’s suggestion that they meet up again. “I didn’t bring any marshmallows,” Hiro says, voice lilting at the end like it’s a question. He pulls up the sleeve of his black sweater. It falls off his shoulders somewhat, and it’s got a big triangle on it that Tadashi had made illuminati jokes about until Hiro pinched him.

 

“I’m talking about the robot,” Tadashi grins, scraping at the bottom of the Tupperware full of lasagna that Aunt Cass had packed them. They’d made a deal not to eat until they’d finished this last chapter, but the smell of cheese and tomato sauce had proved too tempting. His jeans are, surprisingly, not skinnies, although his v-neck shirt is black to match Hiro's. “I was trying to come up with a cute design that wouldn’t scare people, and I figured maybe a giant penguin at first, but now I’m thinking a marshmallow. That’s pretty non-threatening, and a lot less effort to build.”

 

“I hope you’re not thinking of that Michelin guy,” Hiro wrinkles his nose as Tadashi’s marauding fork steals a bite of his dinner. “What are you doing? You’ve got your own food, don’t eat mine.”

 

“I’ve finished mine, though,” Tadashi says mildly, sticking his illegal lasagna into his mouth and talking without swallowing first. Hiro huffs at him.

 

“I already gave you all my celery!”

 

“You don’t even _like_ celery, that doesn’t count. Anyway if you bring food into my apartment, it’s mine.”

 

“How is that even fair? Two weeks ago you accuse me of bribing you with food, and now you’re taking it from me?”

 

“You get to live with this stuff, that’s how,” Tadashi says, managing to get another bite even though Hiro attempts to shove him away with a foot. “And honestly I’d be stupid not to take this kind of bribery. Spare a thought for your poor starving friend, huh? And ask your aunt if she knows how to make tempura.”

 

Hiro gives him the stinkface. “She’s not your personal chef. Stay away from my lasagna,” he says, although he hands the Tupperware over anyway. Tadashi picks through it gleefully, and Hiro makes a comment under his breath about how he should have known better than to trust someone who would voluntarily eat cooked celery.

 

Tadashi only smiles. He’s been smiling a lot, lately. He’d practically bounced through the door when he’d first let Hiro in today, shooting ideas at him a mile a minute and waving his pencil around like a conductor’s baton. And he’s developed a habit of grabbing Hiro and swinging him around when he wants to get his point across. It’s…nice. Seeing him this animated, still with stubble and bags under his eyes but also laugh lines. It wouldn’t take a genius to tell that Tadashi’s in his element. He belongs in SFIT. He’s an idiot for not noticing that himself.

 

Tadashi’s waving a hand in front of his face. He’s got sauce in the corner of his mouth that Hiro wipes off automatically with a thumb. “You okay, man? You seem a little out of it today.”

 

 _I want to ask you something that’s going to make you sound suspicious as hell, but I don’t have the balls to hear the answer._ “Just tired,” Hiro says instead, stretching his arms over his head for effect. It’s dark outside, from what he can see through the little window in Tadashi’s living room, although not anywhere close to the time Hiro would normally go to sleep. He does feel a little weary, though, and his theatrical yawn turns into a real one about halfway through. “Nothing major.”

 

Tadashi’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

 

“Mhm, inspiration just has a habit of striking at four in the morning, that’s all. Maybe I should head home, we’ve done a lot today.”

 

“We have,” Tadashi muses, glancing at the ten or so sheets of paper all covered in notes and sketches. “I think I’m really getting somewhere. I feel like, I dunno, this time I might actually have a chance.” He smiles, a little bashful, and rubs the back of his neck. “Do you need a ride? It’s kind of late.”

 

“Not _that_ late,” Hiro says lightly, although his heart stutters in his chest. “I’m not gonna get mugged, I don’t think.”

 

“I wouldn’t bet on it in this part of town,” Tadashi says, closing up both Tupperwares and handing them back to Hiro. “Come on, I don’t want you falling asleep on the tram and missing your stop.”

 

“Then you’d have to ride back on your own.”

 

“I’ll bring my moped, it won’t be that bad.”

 

Hiro tenses. “You sure?”

 

Tadashi doesn’t notice. “It’s the least I can do after all of this,” he smiles, standing up and reaching out a hand to help Hiro off the couch. “Just let me get a jacket, and I’ll be right with you.”

 

Hiro waits. Tadashi leads them outside and to the nearly empty parking lot, where his moped is parked neatly behind a bush. Hiro gingerly perches on the back with his arms around Tadashi’s waist, although this time he keeps his distance.

 

“You’ll have to direct me,” Tadashi calls over the sound of the engine. “Don’t fall asleep this time, got it?”

 

“Got it,” Hiro repeats with fake cheer, and they drive off.

 

It goes fine, actually. More than fine. Tadashi gets them out of the downtown area, and from there Hiro points down streets that Tadashi takes with ease. _Left, straight on, left, take a right, go down the tunnel, there’s a shortcut over here, take the second exit here._

 

They reach the café without incident. Hiro directs them to the garage, which is devoid of customers, and then clambers off the moped. Tadashi cuts off the engine, taking the spare helmet from Hiro and flipping up his own visor so he can say goodbye. “Thanks for today, buddy, I really owe you one.”

 

Hiro takes off his helmet. He is scowling.

 

This time, Tadashi notices.

 

 

 

“…is something wrong?” The smile he’s wearing slips off and falls onto the pavement with an unattractive _splat._ Hiro watches it go, and feels no sorrow.

 

He resumes his glowering. “I told you to take the second exit.”

 

Tadashi blinks at him. “I did.”

 

“You took the _third_ exit.”

 

“Well, I mean, we’re at your house, so I obviously must have followed your directions.”

 

“I gave you the _wrong_ directions,” Hiro says, crossing his arms. “You were supposed to take the third exit and you _did,_ even though I told you to take the second.”

 

Tadashi stares at him.

 

“You know the way to my house,” Hiro says.

 

Tadashi glances at the Lucky Cat.

 

“You said you _didn’t_ know the way,” Hiro elaborates.

 

Tadashi still looks hopelessly confused. “I’ve been here before, Hiro.”

 

“No, you don’t get it,” Hiro cuts him off impatiently. “That time when you took me to your garage, you said it was because you didn’t know the way so you had to take me with you. But you _did_ know the way to my house! You’d been to my house before that, when…after I asked you out. Remember?”

 

Realisation takes its time to dawn, but when it does, it spreads quickly. Tadashi remembers, then. “Are you – Hiro, I didn’t know the way _then,_ but I know _now._ What’s the problem?”

 

“The problem is you _already knew,”_ Hiro says. “How’d you get here the first time if you didn’t know the way, huh?”

 

Tadashi splutters. “The route’s different with a tram and a moped! I took a tram the first time. Of course I wouldn’t know how to _drive_ here.”

 

“But you just did! You just drove here perfectly even though I kept pointing you down wrong turns! And you didn’t even notice they were wrong, because you weren’t even listening to me, because you knew the way!”

 

“Of course I would know the way! I’ve been here so many times, how could I _not_ have figured it out by now?”

 

“How many times have you been here by _moped?”_ Hiro retorts. “You take the tram here. I’ve seen you get on it when you leave!”

 

“You watch me leave?”

 

“No! Yes! That’s not the point! This is the second time you’ve tried to drive here, isn’t it? And you _just said_ that the routes are different for a tram and a moped. You didn’t look at a map or use GPS or whatever. So how’d you know how to get here?”

 

Tadashi gapes at him. “What is this about?”

 

“Why did you take me to your garage that time if you knew how to get here?”

 

“I didn’t know how to get here!”

 

“I don’t believe you!”

 

“Well what am I supposed to do if you won’t believe me?”

 

“Tell me the truth!”

 

“I’m _telling_ the truth!”

 

“No you’re not!”

 

Tadashi gapes at him in bewilderment. “ _What_ are you accusing me of?”

 

“You tried to kidnap me!”

 

“Why would I do that?”

 

“ _You tell me!”_

 

“Hiro.” Tadashi takes his helmet off and gets off the moped, taking Hiro by the shoulders and shaking him very gently. “You’re not making any sense. Why are you asking me this? Why do you think I was trying to kidnap you?”

 

“Because you _knew._ You can give me as many excuses as you want but I can _see_ you’re lying. You’re doing that thing where you put your hand in your hair. You do that whenever you get anxious.”

 

Tadashi pauses in running a hand through his hair. He puts it down and lets go of Hiro self-consciously, taking a step away like he’s thinking of hopping back onto his moped and running for it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Look, I’m dense, but I’m not _that_ dense. What happened that night? Why did you decide to take me to work?”

 

“What _else_ was I supposed to do?” Tadashi throws his hands up in defeat. “Just, make my way over here, bang on the door ‘til your aunt woke up, and then explain to her that you got drunk at a strip club and I was here to drop you off? I was trying to _help._ And it worked out, didn’t it?”

 

“Then why did you _lie_ about it?” Hiro presses. “Why didn’t you just tell me that you didn’t want Aunt Cass to see us? Why’d you say it was because you got lost?”

 

“I don’t _know,_ I – what does that even matter?”

 

“It matters because you’re coming up with two different stories to explain the same thing, which means that one of them must not be true,” Hiro says. Tadashi blinks like he’s been slapped. “What did you want with me that night, Tadashi? Why’d you want me at the garage?”

 

Tadashi doesn’t answer. “You don’t trust me.”

 

“If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t have come over today. I don’t _believe_ you. You’re bullshitting me, man.”

 

“For the love of-- I wasn’t _thinking!”_ Tadashi cries in exasperation. “It was five in the morning, I was tired and you were asleep and I was a little loopy, okay? I don’t know what was going through my head but it wasn’t that I was going to _kidnap_ you, god. What would I even have done? Held you for ransom? Sold your kidneys?”

 

“Well clearly you wanted _something.”_

 

 _“_ Well maybe I wanted _you!”_ Tadashi snaps, and then recoils. “ _…_ safe _._ Maybe I wanted you safe.”

 

 

 

Silence. A bird caws at them from somewhere above, and the street light flickers briefly and then goes back on again. Nobody comes out of the café to check on them, the world doesn’t stop spinning, and the stars don’t all decide to fall out of the sky and onto their heads. Hiro stares at Tadashi, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Oh my god.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re in _love_ with me.”

 

 

 

“What?!” Tadashi’s voice cracks in a way Hiro’s never heard it before, and he nearly trips over his moped in his haste to back away. “What are you _talking_ about?”

 

Hiro points an accusatory finger. “You’re in _love_ with me, aren’t you?”

 

“You – no! Of course not! Stop looking so smug, asshole, and don’t put words in my mouth!”

 

“You _are!”_ Hiro crows. “Oh my god, this explains _everything –_ all those mixed signals weren’t really mixed signals, it was just you being super obvious and me not noticing! Why else would you come to my house after telling me it wasn’t safe to be around me? You kept me with you when I was drunk because you wanted to spend more _time_ with me, didn’t you? You wanted me to know where to find you!”

 

“I kept you there because I didn’t trust you not to hurt yourself!” Tadashi cries. “I mean – I didn’t know the way to your house – I need to go home, I’ll see you later --”

 

“No you _don’t,”_ Hiro throws himself at Tadashi and wraps his arms around his middle, attempting to yank him backwards into the garage. “You are _not_ running away from me, fucker, we’re going to sit down and talk about this like _adults.”_

 

“You’re not an adult, you’re like 5’7”,” Tadashi retorts, throwing his weight forward and dragging them both to the moped. Hiro digs his heels in. “Get _off_ me, god damn you, I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you accuse me of being in lo – of liking you that way.”

 

“Your _face_ is the same colour as your _moped,”_ Hiro grunts, headbutting Tadashi in the ribs and using the man’s moment of weakness to gain momentum. “You’re so fucking _stubborn._ Stop running away from your feelings!”

 

“I don’t have any feelings,” Tadashi insists. “You’re gonna rip my shirt, go _away.”_

 

“Not until you tell me the truth!”

 

“I’m _telling_ you the truth!”

 

“No you’re not!”

 

“I’m _not_ having this conversation again!” Tadashi says slightly louder than necessary, twisting around and planting a hand on Hiro’s face to push him away. Hiro stays fast and tries to bite that hand, although there’s not much he can realistically do without biting on his own cheek since Tadashi’s smushing it like that. “Honestly, I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas but they’re not true.”

 

“What are you so afraid of?” Hiro says through unflattering fishlips as Tadashi continues to manhandle his face. “You _like_ me. And we already know I feel the same way, so what the hell is your problem? This is a _good_ thing, you idiot!”

 

“No it _isn’t,_ not with somebody like me, this isn’t going to – I’m not in love with you!”

 

“Then kiss me!”

 

“ _What?”_

 

Tadashi releases Hiro’s face. Hiro heaves him around, making the man stumble as he tries to stay upright. He’s red-faced and panting and every organ in his torso is trying to form a conga line, and his hands shake as he fists them in the material of Tadashi’s thin t-shirt. “Kiss me,” he says, voice surprisingly level, eyes fixed on Tadashi and not allowing him to look away. “You want me to believe you don’t like me back? Prove it.”

 

“Hiro…”

 

 _“Do it_. If you don’t kiss me back, then I’ll leave you alone.”

 

Oh, god. Okay. Bad idea, that was not a smart thing to say, that was not sensitive to Tadashi’s situation because Tadashi looks _terrified,_ he’s frightened and helpless and Hiro almost feels bad for getting on tiptoes and tugging Tadashi’s head down, but now the idea’s in his head it doesn’t seem to want to leave and honestly all he can think about right now is that gnawing feeling in his stomach and what Tadashi’s stubble feels like and all the tiny moments that have led up to this and the poor man looks like he’s going to cry but--

 

\--but Hiro is only human, and that startled little intake of breath really doesn’t stop him from pressing their mouths together.

 

 

 

Tadashi is very still. His hands are hovering in midair somewhere as Hiro’s hands rest on his neck, and both their lips are chapped and this is utterly unsexy but Hiro loves it anyway, breathing hard through his nose as he tilts his head so he can lean into Tadashi properly once, twice, thrice. The thing is that Hiro can _feel_ Tadashi’s pulse quickening under his palm. It’s faster than Hiro’s, even, and Hiro lets out a shaky sigh and whispers Tadashi’s name against his mouth.

 

“Kiss me,” he says, and then swipes his tongue across his lower lip. _“Please.”_

 

There’s that little gasp of breath again. And, fuck. Kissing Tadashi is nice but it’s _so much better_ when he’s kissing back, when he’s surging forward and winding his arms around Hiro’s waist and knocking their teeth together in his haste to bite at Hiro’s lower lip. Hiro finds himself being bent backward into a pretty arch, and he lets his fingers tangle themselves in Tadashi’s short hair.

 

 _Oh,_ he thinks. _Oh. So this is what it’s like to kiss someone you might be in love with._

 

He could go on doing this for the rest of the night, actually, but they do probably need to breathe at some point. Hiro’s the first one to pull back. His lips are wet and Tadashi’s eyes are kind of glazed, pupils dilated where they’re illuminated by the bright yellow streetlight. Hiro’s chest rises and falls, and Tadashi’s hands seems to tremble.

 

“You _do_ want me,” Hiro says hoarsely.

 

Tadashi presses their faces together. Hiro wraps his arms around Tadashi’s neck and waits for his heartbeat to slow, enjoying the beginnings of stubble against his face and enjoying how warm Tadashi feels in the chilly night air. “You suck,” he mumbles against Tadashi’s cheek. “Honestly, if you’d just _gotten over yourself_ and told me, we could have done this ages ago.”

 

Tadashi makes a quiet, pained noise and manages to bury his face in Hiro’s hair. “I _hate_ you.”

 

“I don’t think that’s what this is,” Hiro cracks a smile, and Tadashi clutches him harder.

 

“You should…let go,” he murmurs. “Being close to you like this is making me want to kiss you again.”

 

“You can, you know.”

 

“I can’t,” Tadashi says thickly, although he makes no attempt to disentangle himself from Hiro’s boa constrictor grip. “We – I _can’t,_ Hiro. This won’t work.”

 

 

 

Hiro stiffens. Minutely, but still easily felt from how close they are, because Tadashi automatically holds him closer even as ugly excuses fall from his mouth to leave invisible stains on Hiro’s hoodie. Hiro sighs into Tadashi’s neck slowly, although it does nothing to loosen up his chest because of _course._ Of course it wouldn’t be this easy, because when does Tadashi ever make anything easy? Why did Hiro think he’d win, this time?

 

He takes a step back. Tadashi reluctantly lets him go. Hiro looks up, face blank and _tired,_ and Tadashi twists his fingers together like he wants to run and hide. Funny, that. Hiro thinks they might have been through this before, just the other way around.

 

“At least tell me why,” he says, tongue darting out to chase Tadashi’s taste on his mouth.

 

Tadashi chews his lip. “I’m a stripper.”

 

“You’re not answering my question.”

 

“I take my _clothes off_ for a _living_ ,” Tadashi says, voice urgent even though it doesn’t need to be. “Hiro, I – are you really thinking about this? Do you remember that first time we met? Do you remember when I – sexual stuff like that, it should be intimate but I don’t even think about it anymore because I do it _so often,_ I’m not even sure how many people have already seen me naked for money and are you – are you sure you’re going to be okay with that? Honestly, Hiro? I can’t be completely faithful to you. As much as I want to, I _can’t.”_

 

Hiro’s shaking his head without realizing it, wanting to cut Tadashi off before he’s done speaking. “No, I, Tadashi, I _understand,_ it’s okay, you have to do this because of your job, I know it’s not because you wanna hurt me or whatever--”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you”, Tadashi says quietly. “But you’re gonna get hurt anyway. You’re already hurt – I keep pushing you away and I’m _sorry,_ I don’t want to but it’s for the best because I honestly don’t think that you’re gonna get any benefit from being around me, Hiro. Thank you for wanting to try but I’m not gonna do that to you. You want me to tell you the truth? Okay. I _like_ you. A lot, more than I’ve liked anyone in a long time, and if you asked me out now I’d want nothing more than to say yes, but I _can’t._ Because you’re you, and I’m me.”

 

Hot. The air is stifling and everything is angry-coloured, almost like that first time when he’d stood in a bathroom in a police station by himself but now it’s _worse,_ because this time when Tadashi pulls Hiro’s heart from his chest he pulls out all the bits and pieces attached too. Worse, because now Hiro’s not sad, he’s _furious._

 

“Because you’re you and I’m me,” he says through gritted teeth and a ball of lead in his chest. “Because you’re you and you’re doing it _again,_ you’re sabotaging yourself before you’ve even tried and you’re going to try and tell me that I’m wrong, aren’t you? You’re gonna tell me that it won’t _work,_ you just _know_ it won’t. And you’re not even going to tell me _why.”_

 

He’s picking a fight. He knows he is, and it’s unlike him, but there’s a slight, grim satisfaction from watching Tadashi flinch away from him like the words hurt. Because Hiro never says a bad thing to Tadashi, and because every little fleck of anger now is magnified by the way Hiro’s lips still feel warm from being kissed.

 

But Tadashi doesn’t rise to the bait. He just stands there awkward and ashamed, refusing to look Hiro in the eye and instead glancing back at his moped. _Coward._ “I keep telling you why, but you don’t understand.”

 

“Then _make_ me.”

 

Tadashi sighs. “You’re _amazing._ You know that, right? Who am I kidding, of course you don’t. Hiro, you – I just met you and I already feel like you could have put the stars in the sky, you know? You crashed into my life and got me arrested and made a huge mess of everything, and I don’t even know what’s going on half the time since I met you but you make me so _happy._ You’re smart and you’re sweet and you just keep _giving –_ your time and your friendship and food and books and you’re helping me apply for college even though I’ve basically been nothing but an _asshole_ to you, and I – don’t you feel it? Can’t you see how much I’m taking advantage of you?”

 

Tadashi takes a step forward, hands held out imploringly. “Can’t you _see_ it? Because I can, Hiro. If somebody looked at us right now they’d see an amazing person and then they’d see _me._ I am not _good enough._ I’m not _like you._ I’m not like your friends or your aunt of your home,” he says, turning to gesture at the café. “You have nice things and you _deserve_ nice things and _I am not nice, Hiro._ I’m broken and stuck and I’m not _going_ anywhere. A long time ago I thought I was going to change the world. But bills have to be paid and I didn’t have anyone, and four years later I have two shit jobs and I can barely afford a month’s rent at a time. But you’re not like that, Hiro. You don’t deserve that. You could have _anyone_ on earth. Don’t settle for me.” He falters. “I feel like a man looking at the sun, standing next to you.”

 

Hiro stares at him. This is…wrong. Everything is wobbly and wrong, and his knees are turning watery. Everything Tadashi is saying is _wrong,_ and Hiro wants to correct him but doesn’t know how to start, doesn’t know if it’s possible to articulate the conviction he’s got that everything about this situation is backwards. His lips move. He’s not actually saying anything, he knows, but he’s _trying_ to, because he’s never seen a person quite as open and vulnerable as Tadashi is right now.

 

“You’re…enough,” he says, voice coming out like a rusty hinge. “You’re important. You’re _special,_ and I don’t understand…I don’t understand how anyone could have fooled you into thinking you weren’t.”

 

Tadashi smiles at him sadly. It’s a terrible look on him. “I’m just me, Hiro.”

 

“You can be more.” Licking his lower lip uncertainly, Hiro takes a step forward, and Tadashi doesn’t back away. “You’re already on the way there. Maybe you don’t like where you are now but I still like you and you can _change it._ You’re _going_ to change it. You could be anything you wanted to be and I want to help you get there, but you have to _try.”_

 

Tadashi’s shoulders slump. He looks like he’s starting to slowly collapse in on himself. Hiro thinks about how much like a statue Tadashi had looked that first time they met, and thinks about how cracks run through marble. “I keep pulling you and then pushing you away. I can’t have you and I don’t deserve you but I _want…_ Hiro, I want you so badly. I want you to myself. That’s selfish, right? You’re more than I’m worth.”

 

“Not if I want the same thing,” Hiro says. He draws steadily closer, close enough that he can gently cup Tadashi’s face in his hands and nudge him until they’re looking at each other properly. Tadashi places his hands over Hiro’s forearms.

 

“I’m not good enough. I’ll never be good enough and I know that and I won’t get hurt if I remember that, but you…you make me think that someday I could be. Good enough, I mean,” Tadashi mumbles artlessly, making something flutter in Hiro’s stomach the way he’s used to feeling.

 

“You _will_ be. Look, you agreed to apply to SFIT because you trust me, right? Because I said you could do it and you realized that I was right. That’s exactly what I’m saying now, Tadashi. I still think you’re wrong about not being good enough, but if you want to change your life, I think you _can._ SFIT is the first step. And you’ll keep taking steps and maybe sometimes it’ll be hard but you just have to keep trying. You’re not alone anymore. You aren’t getting rid of me.”

 

Tadashi chews the inside of his cheek unhappily. “Why me, Hiro? Out of every person in this city, why did you choose me?”

 

Hiro shrugs. “Why _me?_ What makes you think I’m so special? _”_

 

“You just _are,_ I don’t know how you can’t see it but--”

 

“I think the same about you, dummy,” Hiro cuts him off gently, thumbs massaging little circles into Tadashi’s cheeks. “Whatever it is that you _want_ to be, I can already see it.”

 

Tadashi shakes his head minutely. “I can’t do this, Hiro. Not now. I’m all wrong, I’m going to _hurt_ you. I can’t give you everything I want to give you. I’m not ready.”

 

“I’ll be here right until you are,” Hiro says. Making the promise feels like a gamble, a little bit like throwing dice and holding his breath to see what number comes up. “Maybe…maybe we can’t do this now but maybe someday…”

 

“Maybe someday I’ll deserve to mean something to you,” Tadashi smiles humourlessly, although it comes out more sad than lighthearted. Hiro presses their foreheads together.

 

“You mean more to me than most people. Just by being you, and I’m willing to keep telling you that until you believe it.”

 

“I’d like to believe it,” Tadashi admits. “I can’t yet but maybe someday I’ll, I don’t know. Be more than I am now. And then you and I…that’s stupid, right? I’m kidding myself. I’m not much, I don’t have anything to give you.”

 

“I don’t _want_ anything, stupid,” Hiro bops their heads together gently. “I just want you to be happy. And you like me and I like _you_ and I think that I could make you happy,” he says almost shyly. “So you should hurry up and date me already.”

 

“Maybe when I don’t feel like I’m dirtying you by touching you,” Tadashi breathes a laugh, although it makes Hiro frown. “Although that might take a long time. Longer than you deserve to wait. And, god, Hiro, I’m _difficult,_ I’m moody and prickly and you shouldn’t have to deal with all of that.”

 

Hiro shrugs. “I want to. The more I learn about you the more I like you, and it stresses me out thinking about how much I like you, but now that I know you like me back, I think…maybe it won’t stress me out any more. Maybe I’ll be happy about it instead.”

 

“You’d be happier if you picked somebody else.”

 

“I think I should be the one who decides that,” Hiro says flatly. “And I think you should stop lying to yourself and admit what you’re really thinking.”

 

“What I’m really thinking, huh?” Tadashi hums. “I’m thinking that I want to get…better, I guess. Like, I want to be a better person but also that I want to _feel_ better, like I can do things right and not fuck the rest of my life up and I’m not a waste of space. And I want to feel like I can make you happy. And I think,” he continues softly, “that when I feel better, maybe I’ll feel like I can make you happy.”

 

“Then I’ll wait,” says Hiro simply. “Until you’re ready, and I won’t give up on you. I already promised you that.”

 

“You promise me a lot more than you should, buddy,” Tadashi croaks.

 

Hiro kisses him again. Soft, once on the mouth, close-lipped and brief. “I give you what I want to give you. And you’d better damn well take it.”

 

 

 

Tadashi swallows. Shuts his eyes, puts his hands on Hiro’s waist, stands stock still even though people may be able to see them as they make their way out of the café. “One day,” he says, voice shaky but audible.

 

Hiro rubs their noses together and smiles. “Yeah. One day.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > 'am i rushing this'  
> > it's been sixty-one thousand words
> 
> hiro's outfit for the day shamelessly ripped off of [rin matsuoka](http://38.media.tumblr.com/dce1ac51d731f30c48688e9960e29f11/tumblr_na5hjbqCgG1so34z2o2_r1_1280.gif).
> 
> okay listen this is really important. so there's this cop stationed by the highway, right, and he sees a guy driving a truck. but the thing is that the back of the truck is full of penguins. like, just penguins.
> 
> so he stops the truck and says, 'sir, are you aware that there are penguins in your truck'
> 
> 'yes, they are mine'
> 
> 'well you cant keep them like that, sir, you should be taking them to a zoo.'
> 
> so the truck driver says ok and drives off, and the cop gos back to work, and he forgets about it
> 
> except the next day the same fucking guy drives past
> 
> with the same fucking penguins in the truck
> 
> and the cop stops him like, 'sir, did i not tell you to take your penguins to a zoo'
> 
> and the guy is like, 'i did! that was yesterday, today we're going to the beach.'
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ please consider commissioning me i am very poor](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/post/126325607104/kals-commissions)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've literally finished cleaning shit off the fan, and now there's fluff everywhere? Where did this even come from? Ugh, you know what? I quit. You can just clean up all this nonsense yourself.

 

 

“You should come over and have dinner with us one day,” Hiro says, partly because he means it and partly because he wants to see what Tadashi has to say about the idea.

 

As it turns out, Tadashi doesn’t have much to say besides a muffled _fuck_ when he accidentally solders his finger. He sticks it into his mouth and turns to Hiro, eyes wide behind his glasses like he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Which he might as well have been, the way his face is losing colour. Hiro suppresses a smile.

 

Tadashi removes the finger sheepishly and puts down his book. Serves him right, trying to do two things at once. He’s got some rather complex-looking circuitry spread out over his living room table, half of it spilling off the worktop and onto the floor. Hiro wishes Aunt Cass could see this. Not that she’s ever particularly strict about the way he keeps his bedroom, but Tadashi right now is living proof that inventing can get _messy._ “Her food’s better when it hasn’t been sitting in a Tupperware for two hours. I mean, we try our best, but even I can’t work miracles. I’ll even ask her to make you tempura like you keep bugging me for.”

 

Tadashi glances at the now-empty containers of quiche that Hiro had brought today. He’s visibly torn; on the one hand, Tadashi’s one of those people that thinks with his stomach, but on the other, mentioning Aunt Cass still makes him squirm a little bit. Not that Hiro can really blame him, because it’s pretty traumatizing to have a strange middle-aged lady pull your ear just after you’ve been released from holding for a crime somebody else committed. And also maybe because Hiro might have accidently let slip that Aunt Cass has been giving Hiro these knowing _looks_ ever since that whole episode the other night. Not the best idea to make out with a guy right outside of the café in the middle of the dinner rush, in hindsight, but honestly Aunt Cass has caught him doing a lot worse.

 

Anyway, she’s more amused than upset now, especially because Hiro’s been keeping his nose out of trouble for the most part (beyond the usual dumb stuff he does like putting rockets on his swivel chair and almost shooting straight out the second floor window). He’s got his robotics project to focus on, now, tablet balanced on his knees and stylus in hand as he ponders the schematics for last year’s microbots.

 

“Can I think about it?” Tadashi offers finally, chewing the inside of his cheek. He really _is_ thinking about it, poor guy, obviously weighing the pros and cons in his head before he gives Hiro a proper decision. Hiro rolls his eyes and settles more comfortably on his end of the couch, feet safely tucked under Tadashi’s leg to keep his toes warm.

 

“Relax, Sunflower, when she says she wants you for dinner she doesn’t mean she wants to eat _you._ It’ll take three hours tops, you get free food, and then you can scamper off back to your bachelor pad with leftovers. Sound good?”

 

“I think calling this place a bachelor pad is giving it too much credit,” Tadashi gives him a lopsided smile. “I may be a bachelor but I’d call this more _sad_ than _pad.”_

 

Hiro shrugs. “I wouldn’t really call you a bachelor, either, while I’m in the picture.”

 

Tadashi’s mouth snaps shut. He can’t really blush, Hiro thinks, his skin’s too ruddy for it to show properly. Those big Dumbo ears of his do seem to be going a little red, though. A pretty interesting colour, actually, kind of lipsticky and kind of bell peppery at the same time. Hiro regrets nothing.

 

“You’re not my boyfriend,” Tadashi mumbles and goes back to work, grinning like a dumbass.

 

“Not _yet,”_ Hiro hides his own smile behind his tablet. It feels like one of Honey Lemon’s Bunsen burners is somewhere below his heart, turned on _low_ and making him feel all warm and glowy. He nudges Tadashi playfully with a foot. Tadashi pinches him back, over his ankle but too gently for Hiro to really feel anything. He’s reading his book upside down, not that he seems to notice. Hiro grins at the ceiling.

 

 _Flutter flutter,_ go his insides. Hiro’s smile turns dreamy. _Everything_ is dreamy, after that night, hazy and pleasant and new. Tadashi seems a little different. Less sure of himself, but happy. Hiro wiggles his toes against Tadashi’s thigh; a reminder that he’s not going anywhere for now.

 

Tadashi’d gone home subdued after that night. They hadn’t talked all of next day; Hiro because he was still reeling from the kiss and Tadashi probably because he needed some time to think things through and come to terms with what Hiro’d said to him. But the silence had broken fairly soon. Tadashi had called to shyly ask for clarification on exactly what a servo was supposed to do, and, well. Here they are. Back to normal, aside from a slight shift in dynamic.

 

Slight, but significant. Hiro counts this as a win.

 

“Don’t stare at me,” Tadashi says, righting his book. “Whatever you want, you’re not getting it. Your weird mind powers don’t work.”

 

“Mind powers, huh,” Hiro huffs in amusement, making a note of it next to his microbot sketch. _Interesting._ Sliding the holo-screen of his tablet shut, he shuffles onto his knees and crawls over to sit by Tadashi, head gingerly coming to rest on his shoulder. Tadashi stiffens minutely, and then leans back against him, and Hiro takes this as permission to melt all over his side. “All I want is to spend time with you, though. Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No,” Tadashi says, somewhat grudgingly.

 

The butterflies tickle Hiro some more. It’s _fascinating,_ how red his ears are getting. Hiro actually makes Tadashi nervous. Every little touch and teasing word brings forth some sort of reaction. Usually a half-assed complaint, actually. Hiro would be a bit kinder, if he weren’t having so much fun.

 

And, well. This is _nice,_ being able to cuddle up with Tadashi like this, the way he’s always wanted to. Tadashi’s giving him permission, now, instead of playing off all their fleeting touches as being completely platonic. He doesn’t offer bodily contact all that readily, but he accepts Hiro’s innocent affection willingly.

 

Mostly innocent, anyway. Hiro kind of wants to kiss him again. Tadashi wouldn’t object, probably, but that’s cruel even for Hiro.

 

 

 

He hugs Tadashi’s arm. “What are you working on?”

 

It has its desired effect. Tadashi relaxes as he points out his notes, fingers tracing over lines made in pencil. “Logic gate. _If patient exhibits these symptoms, do this procedure,_ that kind of thing. There’s a better way to go about it, I’m sure, but I don’t know how long it would take me to figure out another way.”

 

“It’s fine at this stage, probably,” Hiro says, shifting around to get more comfortable. “You’re only going small-scale for now, so even if this takes more effort, you won’t be wasting a lot of time or anything. How’s the hardware going?”

 

“Gonna have to cannibalise some actuators, or machine ‘em in-house,” Tadashi says. Hiro snorts at how much he sounds like a stereotypical mechanic-handyman. “His skeleton’s a little flimsy for now, but I can fix that with more materials and more money. Assuming they like my idea, anyway.”

 

“They will,” Hiro says soothingly. He means it. Anyone who didn’t like robotic nurses was probably the kind of person who liked kicking puppies in their spare time. “When did he become a _he?”_

 

Tadashi shrugs. “Feels better than saying ‘it’, and I was just gonna use one of those stock GPS voices to make him talk. You know, like Siri? Turns out a programme like that’s not all that hard to write. But anyway the voice I downloaded just happened to be a dude, it’s the first one I found that was free.”

 

“That’s fair enough,” Hiro says. He hasn’t actually seen the robot yet. Tadashi won’t show him, keeps saying he’s _not finished, Hiro, you can’t rush perfection._ Hiro thinks it might just be nerves. He understands, of course; he doesn’t usually like to let people see half-done work either. But he’s curious. The bits and pieces that he’s managed to gather so far aren’t making much of an image in his head, so even though he has an idea of what Tadashi must be cooking up, there are still so many gaps in his information that Nursebot 1.0 might as well be a mystery. He wants to _know,_ damn it all. He tells Tadashi as much, often and with varying degrees of whininess, but Tadashi hasn’t budged.

 

Headbutting his shoulder, Hiro makes an unhappy noise and presses his face into the thin material of Tadashi’s sleeve. “Show me the robot.”

 

“I’m not showing you the robot,” Tadashi says patiently. “Or, I will, but only when he’s done. Won’t be too long, now, so you can see him then.”

 

“That’s what you said _last_ time.”

 

“Last time was two days ago, Hiro,” Tadashi grins at him. “But I’m close. He’s gonna be the best thing I ever built.” His voice softens, and he looks away from Hiro to tap his fingers against his drawings. “Maybe this time I’ll actually make it.”

 

Hiro straightens up so he can wrap his arms around Tadashi’s neck. Tadashi hugs him back with one arm, and Hiro leans his weight on him happily. “You’ll make it. And even if the stars somehow all shift out of alignment and you _don’t_ make it, we’ll keep trying. We’ll find a way, okay? There are no dead ends.”

 

“I dunno, my job is pretty dead end.”

 

“Stop that. We’re going to think positive. You got this, okay? When all this is over, I’ll feed you ‘til you burst.”

 

Tadashi’s still hugging him, although he doesn’t seem too bothered by it at the moment. His grin widens. “Does asking me to dinner with your aunt not count as feeding me ‘til I burst?”

 

Hiro rolls his eyes. “Fine, you can have some other reward.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Hiro’s smile is kind of shit-eating. Tadashi blinks at him, evidently realizing what it is Hiro’s thinking, and he shoves Hiro off of him with a noise of exasperation. “ _Gross.”_

 

Hiro falls back against the cushions with a grin, feet going back to their rightful place on Tadashi’s lap. “You didn’t think it was gross last time.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Hiro’s lips pucker into a kissy face. Tadashi throws a pillow at him.

 

It bounces harmlessly off his head and onto the floor, but neither of them bothers to pick it up. Hiro drums his fingers against his stomach, witty slogan on his bright blue t-shirt long faded into something completely illegible. “I mean it, though. I really think you got this. And if all goes well, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t get in. You deserve to.”

 

Tadashi plays with Hiro’s toes absently, staring at the junk on his table without really paying attention to it. “That’s a bold statement.”

 

“It’s true, though. You deserve to be in SFIT. You’re more than capable. You know, I know a kid who got in with glow-in-the-dark cement. _Cement._ And they accepted him. Other people join SFIT ‘cause it’s prestigious or because they wanna learn more and be famous someday, but you…you just want to help people. You want to build a _nurse._ I mean, I know it sounds lame or whatever, but they’re gonna see you’re the kind of person everyone needs.”

 

Tadashi regards him for a second from between Hiro’s knees. “Wanting to help doesn’t mean I _can_ help, though.”

 

“You’re helping _me.”_

 

“Really.”

 

“No, I mean it,” Hiro says, admiring the craftsmanship of the ceiling. “Like, aside from, y’know, all the other stuff, I appreciate having you around. I don’t really have any friends aside from Fred and Honey, so it’s nice that you’re here. And stuff,” he adds bashfully.

 

He can’t see what Tadashi’s face looks like (doesn’t want to, really), but he speaks slowly. “How could a person like you not have any friends?”

 

Hiro snorts. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always as charming as I am now. High school was, ugh.”

 

“Did you get picked on?”

 

Hiro goes quiet. Tadashi’s fingers are gentle against his shin, and Hiro allows his leg to be massaged. “Not really. I mean yeah, but, like, not at first. I skipped a few grades – well, a lot of grades. And nobody gave me any trouble, cause, yeah, it’s pretty cute to have a nine-year-old wandering around the classroom asking what lipstick is and if it’ll make boys wanna kiss you. In fact for a while I used to come home every day with my hair in pigtails because the girls liked playing dress-up with me. But it’s a lot less cute to have a twelve-year-old kicking your ass at calculus. And I got cocky and turned into kind of a dick, and, well. It never got as bad as getting shoved into lockers, or whatever, but I kind of got used to having nobody talk to me.”

 

Tadashi’s face appears somewhere above Hiro’s legs, chin clean-shaven for once when he rests it against Hiro’s knee. Hiro pinches his cheek half-heartedly. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

 

Hiro shrugs. “Nah, I did it to myself. I got it into my head that they hated me because I was smart, so I started doing bad on purpose. Like I’d always make sure to answer every paper so I scored _just_ below passing grade. I failed sophomore year twice. Could have graduated at thirteen, but I stayed an extra three years being miserable and getting into bot fights until Aunt Cass kicked some sense into me and I pulled it together.” He scratches his cheek self-consciously. “Anyway, my point is that I’m happy you’re my friend because I don’t have a whole lot of those. And, you’re actually trying hard and you deserve to get into the school you want to. You’re more useful to society than I am.”

 

Tadashi plays with the cuffs of Hiro’s capris languidly. His hair’s just as irritatingly neat as it always is, and Hiro considers ruffling it up for a bit. “For what it’s worth, they were wrong. To not want to be friends with you, I mean. You’re a good friend. Not everyone would put this much effort into getting a nobody into their dream school.”

 

“You’re not a nobody.”

 

“You’re right, I’m one of ‘Sokyo’s busiest male strippers, how could I forget.”

 

Hiro gives in to impulse and ruffles Tadashi’s hair. Tadashi complains, but doesn’t actually do anything to stop it. “Why stripping, anyway? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it, and you’re good at it, I’m just curious.”

 

Tadashi shrugs, hair sticking up in seven different directions. “Needed a night job, and I’d heard it paid more than being a cashier. And it wasn’t actually so bad, at first, ‘cause the pay was good and people tend not to harass me too bad. Not really the kind of thing you’d want to do long-term, though.”

 

Hiro tilts his head against the arm of the couch. “What’s it like?”

 

“Scary, at first. Now it’s just a job. You can’t really see the audience when you’re on stage because of the spotlights. When it’s one-on-one I kind of just think about something else and get on with it. Regulars are nice because they tip more, but you can’t really recycle your routines unless you’re sure they’re too drunk to notice. And some of them get really handsy. You were a nice regular, though,” Tadashi adds with a grin.

 

Hiro steps on him, annoyed. “Please, I asked you for a lapdance, like, _once._ The other times I basically paid you to sit down with me and chat.”

 

“And that’s why I liked you. I got to sit and talk to you and not bother with the other gross clients.” His grin softens into a smile. “And it never really felt like work, with you. Sometimes I wondered if I should just give you back your money.”

 

Hiro huffs and looks away. “Stop being so gay.”

 

“Says the guy who made out with another guy.”

 

“I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up.”

 

“Exactly what kind of threat is that?”

 

“For the love of – shut _up,_ go turn the heating on, I’m freezing.”

 

“You sure? It’s expensive, though. And your face is getting a little red there, buddy, I don’t think the heating is gonna help.”

 

“I’m gonna fart on you.”

 

“Now that’s the kind of warmth I don’t want.” Drawing away with poorly-suppressed laughter, Tadashi heaves himself of the couch and towards the wardrobe under the loft, rifling through his neatly-folded clothes until he manages to unearth a stripy grey-and-black sweater that looks too big even for him. His footsteps are quiet as he comes back to drop the thing on Hiro’s head, flopping back onto the couch as Hiro sits up to inspect it. “Here, use this, I wasn’t kidding about the heating being expensive.”

 

Hiro frowns at it but pulls it over his head nonetheless. It falls off one shoulder, sleeves coming past his hands. “You could fit two of me in here. I feel like an octopus.” Experimentally, he smacks Tadashi’s arm with one of his flappy tentacle-sleeves, making Tadashi grin automatically.

 

“Yeah, it’s a hand-me-down from one of the other kids I used to know. She liked to look like she was drowning in fabric.”

 

Hiro surreptitiously holds the sleeves up to his face to sniff at, the moment Tadashi looks away to save his soldering iron from falling off the table. Lemony-fresh. “What other kids? Like, school?”

 

“Nah. Other kids with no families. I was about fourteen when my dad kicked it so I never managed to get adopted. Too old.” He holds out both arms, rolling his eyes at the suspicious look Hiro gives him. “I’m not gonna eat you, okay? You’re cold, so come here.”

 

“Excuses,” Hiro accuses, putting on a show of grumpiness despite the superhuman speed at which he pounces onto Tadashi’s chest. Tadashi smells lemony as well. Must be the detergent. “Were there lots of others?”

 

Tadashi wraps his arms loosely around Hiro’s middle. “There were a few. I think I was the oldest, though, so I used to be kind of de facto big brother. And I was the only one who was around all the time, most of the other kids would get fostered pretty quick.”

 

Hiro frowns from the vicinity of Tadashi’s sternum. “I would have adopted you.”

 

“You would have been eleven.”

 

“I would have adopted you as a big brother. God knows I could have used one.”

 

“I think that might have made our relationship a little weird, though.”

 

“Ugh, no, you’re right,” Hiro wrinkles his nose. “Never mind, I take it back.”

 

“Gee, thanks. You can adopt me now, though.”

 

“I could. I mean, Mochi was a stray, I doubt my aunt would mind me taking in one more.”

 

Tadashi pinches him. Hiro squirms on impulse even though he can’t really feel it through the sweater. Tadashi’s warm and reassuringly solid, and Hiro flattens himself against him as though trying to absorb him via osmosis. “What kind of relationship?”

 

“What?”

 

“You said ‘our relationship’. What kind of relationship are we in?”

 

Tadashi opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. “Uh.”

 

Hiro blinks at him innocently. “Are we in a romantic relationship, Tadashi? Are we _boyfriends?”_

 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Tadashi says, pulling the neck of Hiro’s sweater up and holding it shut over his head like a sausage casing. “Don’t make fun of me.”

 

“I’m not making fun of you, sugarplum,” Hiro’s helpless schoolboy giggling is muffled through fabric. “What are you doing? Let me go, I can’t breathe.”

 

“No, you stay in there and think about what you’ve done.”

 

“If you don’t let me out, there are going to be dire consequences, young man.”

 

A circle of light appears just above his head as Tadashi opens up the neck of the sweater to peer inside, but doesn’t release it. Hiro feels like a lone potato lying in a sack. “Ooh, scary, _consequences,”_ Tadashi says, bringing his face to the opening to laugh at Hiro at point-blank range. “What are you gonna do to me, hmm?”

 

Hiro kisses him. Well, pecks him on the mouth, really, pulling away with a loud wet _smack._ Tadashi releases him, glasses askew, and rears back with a croak of surprise. Hiro’s head pops back out into fresh air and freedom. He gasps for breath. Tadashi’s got both hands over his own mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “ _Ew.”_

 

“You came too close, that was your mistake,” Hiro says primly, straightening out his clothes. Tadashi shuts his eyes and laughs harder, and Hiro grins reflexively. Insides going all wobbly and pleasant, he flops back onto Tadashi with a _thump,_ winding his arms around the man’s narrow waist, pleased when he’s immediately hugged back. He presses his ear to Tadashi’s chest.

 

His voice is rumbly and reverberating as he presses his mouth to Hiro’s forehead. “That was unfair. No sneak attacks, they’re not allowed.”

 

“All’s fair in love and war,” Hiro says into Tadashi’s shirt, humming when the man’s stupid giggling finally fades. “Honestly, we should both be studying, not goofing off.”

 

“And yet, here we are, goofing off,” Tadashi says calmly. Hiro realises belatedly that Tadashi’s tying off the ends of his sleeves and giving him useless sausage hands, but does nothing to stop him. “Although, my stuff is actually going ahead of schedule. I spend more time working on it every day than I thought I would. Not sure why.”

 

“Might be because you’re doing something that actually interests you, for once,” Hiro says thoughtfully. “I get like that sometimes. Forget to sleep, next thing I know there are three plates of cold food next to me and it’s Tuesday. I think people have given up on trying to make me function like a normal adult.”

 

“Maybe _you_ need the nurse, come to think of it.”

 

Hiro snorts. “Don’t. He’s your baby, you can’t give him to anyone. But if you want to build one just for me, I won’t say no. I mean, that’s if you ever show him to me.”

 

“All in good time,” Tadashi pats his back. His heartbeat is slow and soothing. Hiro smushes his face into Tadashi’s chest. “I think I’m going to start testing tomorrow. And if this whole scholarship thing goes well, I can finally quit one of my fucking jobs.”

 

“Maybe you could quit both. Aunt Cass is always hiring, you can come work with her part-time.”

 

“And the fact that you live there is just a coincidence, eh?”

 

“Maybe,” says Hiro mysteriously. “Seriously, though. If you move into a room on campus, working at the Lucky Cat might save you the effort of travelling downtown all the time. And the job’s tiring, but you’re a hard worker, so I think you’ll be okay. You’ll even get to take home leftovers.”

 

Tadashi considers it. “I wouldn’t have to spend much on food.”

 

“And we’d see each other all the time. Think of all the benefits to our not-relationship.”

 

“Hush,” Tadashi tugs on his hair. “Well, I’ll think about it. First thing’s first, I have to finish the bot.”

 

“You will,” Hiro says reassuringly. Tadashi is stupidly comfortable and he smells good, and Hiro lets his eyes slip half-shut. “And I’m always here to help.”

 

“I know, buddy,” Tadashi says, carding a hand through Hiro’s hair. “Are you gonna sleep on me?”

 

“Yes. And this sweater is mine now, just so you know.”

 

Tadashi chuckles quietly, jostling Hiro. “I guess it’s only fair. Go to sleep, I’ll wake you when it gets dark. You’re supposed to be back by nine, right?”

 

“Yeah, I have to help close up tonight.”

 

“You still grounded?”

 

“No idea. She lets me come see you, so I guess not.”

 

“That’s good,” Tadashi hums. His voice and the hand stroking Hiro’s back are hypnotic. “Thanks. For seeing me, I mean.”

 

“Not giving up on you,” Hiro yawns. “Now be quiet, I can’t nap on you if you insist on talking to me.”

 

“Your conversation is so riveting, though,” Tadashi says dryly. “At least let me up so I can get my book.”

 

“Ugh, you’re almost done with it anyway,” Hiro says but lets Tadashi do as he pleases. “Night, sugarplum.”

 

“Goodnight, Hiro,” Tadashi says, and lets Hiro fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

 

 

 

* * *

         

 

“How do you feel about the idea of mind-controlled robots?” Hiro asks as he soaps up a plate.

 

Aunt Cass looks up from her book. The kitchen table has been cleared for the night, and the last of the dishes are almost ready to be put away. Hiro hitches his sleeve a little higher up his elbow with a wet hand, and Aunt Cass hums thoughtfully. “I think that sounds a little dangerous, sweetie.”

 

Hiro lathers another plate. “Mind- _controlled,_ not mind- _control._ As in, you control them with your mind.”

 

“Oh.” She flips a page, some sappy romance novel by the look of it, and takes a second to think about it. “Well, I think it would make it a lot easier to change TV channels since the remote keeps going missing. Why do you ask?”

 

“School project,” Hiro says, beginning the somewhat less arduous process of rinsing. “Tadashi mentioned it off-hand about a week ago, and I’ve been thinking it might be a good idea. You remember those microbots I built? Maybe I could build some sort of neural controller. If it’s possible, I mean.” It feels nice to be able to say _Tadashi_ to another person. No Sunfire, no ‘my friend’, just _Tadashi._

 

She smiles at him. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

 

He grins at a fork. “You’re awful confident.”

 

“You put rockets on a shopping cart when you were six, Hiro. I’ve learnt not to be surprised when it comes to you.”

 

“Point.” The dishes go onto the rack to drain; he could dry them and put them back in the cupboard where they belong, but there are limits to even his usefulness. Wiping his hands on the back of his jeans instead of the hand towel hanging by the sink, he shuffles back to his aunt to kiss the side of her head loudly. “I’ll do a little research and go talk to Callaghan when I’ve got the time. Thanks for dinner, Aunt Cass. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

She waves him off amicably with a reminder to study hard, and Hiro pads off to the staircase to his room and his books. And his iPod, which beats him to it, rocketing out the door to meet him, screaming the chorus to that GaGa song about telephones. Hiro catches it as it clatters headfirst down the stairs. Its screen is cracked in three places now instead of two, and Hiro sighs and wonders if it’s worth wrapping the stupid thing in bubble wrap for its own protection.

 

“Phone call?” he asks, not unkindly. The intrepid mp-3-wheel skitters madly at him and Hiro jogs the rest of the way back to his room. His phone is vibrating from somewhere under his mountain of sheets, and Hiro tosses his iPod aside to look for it.

 

 

 

It’s Tadashi. Heart doing a weird little hop-step in his chest, Hiro accepts the call and says hello.

 

“ _It works.”_

 

Hiro glances at the screen. “My phone?”

 

“ _Wh—no, my robot, Hiro. It works.”_ His voice is hushed. A little bit hoarse, like he’s been either screaming very loudly or sleeping very little. Hiro puts a hand to his mouth, ignoring the iPod as it bumps against his leg curiously.

 

“It—he works? Shut _up,_ when? When did you finish him? How is everything? Have you run tests? Is he doing what you want him to do? Any problems?”

 

 _“So far, all good,”_ Tadashi says, voice starting to bubble with happiness. “ _Hiro, he’s perfect. You need to see him. I’m at the garage, I know it’s late but can you come? Hiro, he…he works. He really works.”_

 

 

 

His knees are jigging, Hiro realises, chewing his lower lip as Tadashi bumbles through diagnostics and half-formed explanations. He has to go. Has to see this for himself, has to see the _masterpiece_ that Tadashi’s been working on for the past few months. He casts around for a sweatshirt and pulls it over his head, Tadashi’s words sounding nonsensical until Hiro’s head pops free so he can look through his dresser for socks. “I will be _right_ there,” he says, grinning like a madman and bouncing around as he tries to pull on one shoe.

 

Tadashi hangs up with a quiet plea that Hiro hurry, and Hiro does just that. Phone, jacket, keys, and then Mochi starts the usual _I-want-to-come-no-you-can’t-come-you’re-a-cat_ routine, and then Hiro’s thundering downstairs and calling out a hasty goodbye to Aunt Cass, more than ready to rocket out the door.

 

He doubles back for his wallet, because he always forgets his wallet, and _then_ he rockets out the door.

 

He doesn’t notice the cold all that much as he’s running to the bus stop, ideas flying through his head a mile a minute. All the possibilities; he has no real idea what he’s in for, this is the moment of truth, and Tadashi had sounded so _happy._ Hiro stuffs his fists against his mouth and screams very quietly. The sleeves cover his knuckles. He’s wearing Tadashi’s sweater again, never mind the fact that he’s been sleeping in it every night for a week.

 

The bus may actually be going at slightly faster than a walk, but they arrive, Hiro bouncing in his seat until the young mother next to him nervously guides her baby away. Hiro doesn’t notice. He’s out the door before the bus has really come to a stop; the sign to Tadashi’s garage is switched off but one of the shutters is open.

 

Hiro slows to a more respectable speed and pops his head in cautiously, feeling small in the bright fluorescent lights. “Tadashi?”

 

 

 

“Hey.” There’s only one empty corner of the garage, and Tadashi’s standing right in it, a mess of junk around his feet and an off-white _colossus_ standing in front of him. Hiro advances cautiously, watching the thing for a reaction, and Tadashi’s face cracks into probably the most honest smile Hiro’s ever seen.

 

“This is him, Hiro. This is my robot.” Tadashi’s filthy and oil-stained and probably exhausted _,_ but he holds an arm out as Hiro comes over to lean into his side, tools hanging off Tadashi’s belt digging into Hiro’s hip. Hiro’s eyes are wide as he stares up at the massive poofy-looking thing. It seems to be staring _back,_ a little disconcertingly, and Hiro steps forward to run a finger over its surface. “This is what’s gonna get me into that school.”

 

Hiro exhales slowly. He’s not entirely sure if what he’s touching is the actual robot or just a cover. It’s a lot taller than he is, rounded and made of patched-up plastic stuff, mostly white but for a couple different colours in some places. A little mochi-shaped head sits on top of what Hiro realises is a vaguely humanoid body, and it follows his hand when he waves it in front of the robot’s face. “He’s _huge.”_

 

“Six two, on the nose,” Tadashi says from behind him. Hiro prods at its squishy exterior, surprised when his finger sinks deeper than he’d expected it to.

 

“He’s a balloon.”

 

“Yeah, it’s because his skeleton is made of steel and scrap metal. The inflation’s so he doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s vinyl and bits of that old tarp I had over my moped. Looks kinda shabby, but he can lift about two hundred pounds.”

 

“ _Nice,”_ Hiro whistles, pressing his face into the robot’s body to get a closer look at its insides. Tadashi’s footsteps lead away and a few more lights go on overhead, giving Hiro a better view of the frankly _killer_ actuators built into its structure. “Tell me you didn’t make those actuators yourself.”

 

“Had to, couldn’t find ‘em anywhere else,” Tadashi says, a touch pleased. Hiro turns to him in disbelief, awestruck and _excited_ as he grabs the robot’s head to inspect its little black eyes.

 

“Cameras?”

 

“Webcams. I might have had to go looking through scrap heaps,” Tadashi says, rubbing the back of his neck a touch bashfully. “His name’s Baymax.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It was my first dog’s name. Shut up, I know it’s weird, I was _six.”_

 

Hiro pulls away from the robot for just long enough to grin at Tadashi over his shoulder. “ _Sick._ What does he do?”

 

“Well, right now he’s programmed with ten medical procedures,” Tadashi says, patting his robot’s arm like a proud father at kindergarten graduation. “First aid stuff, mostly. But he can identify signs of an emergency, too. He knows to call for help if it looks like someone’s in trouble. I think, anyway. Sometimes he gets a little trigger-happy about that, and, well, it’s not like I can test him out. I mean I _could,_ maybe fake a heart attack or something, but I don’t think the hospital would appreciate sending an ambulance out here twice a day. Here, give me your hand.”

 

Hiro holds out his hand. Tadashi unhooks a little spanner from his belt and raps Hiro over the knuckles with it.

 

“Wha – _ow,_ what the hell?”

 

He snatches his hand away and rubs it as Tadashi grins. Baymax waddles forward and leans over.

 

“You are injured.”

 

Hiro’s jaw drops. “He _talks.”_

 

“I know, I built him,” Tadashi says wryly.

 

Hiro flaps the uninjured hand at him to be quiet, still looking at Baymax. “Oh my god, he’s _amazing._ What’s he like? His personality, I mean. Does he have one?”

 

“Not as such, no,” Tadashi says. “But if all goes well, he’ll develop one. He learns through observation, so don’t go teaching him any bad habits.”

 

Baymax, seemingly disinterested in the conversation, takes Hiro’s hand to look at. His fingers are soft and comfortable; weird to think that there’s a metal skeleton hiding under there. “There does not appear to be any lasting damage. Suggested treatment: ice to numb discomfort.”

 

“ _Woah.”_ Hiro’s face hurts a little bit more than his hand, from splitting itself in half like this. “What does he run on?”

 

“Souped-up car battery.”

 

“Lithium would stay charged for longer. Unless you want him running out of juice quickly – I mean, he _does_ sort of look like an Apple product, so that won’t surprise anyone. No offense, Baymax.”

 

“I cannot be offended. I am a robot.”

 

Tadashi places both hands on Hiro’s shoulders, laughter soft and kind of dorky. “I’ve got some videos of me testing him, if you’re interested.” Hiro nods, and is subsequently released so Tadashi can go look through his things. Hiro stares at the robot and Baymax stares back, gaze shifting from Hiro to Tadashi and back again.

 

Tadashi returns with an old-fashioned cam-corder. “Here, I did about 84 tests, so I’ll just show you the more interesting ones. Why are you still holding Baymax’s hand?”

 

Hiro looks down at the squishy balloon fingers interlaced with his. “I don’t know. Where did you even _get_ that thing?”

 

“Hand-me-down from Mr Matsuda. Still works, okay? Anyway, nothing happened up until test number 25, which was when I finally realized I’d fucked up his voice recognition software and re-wrote the code.”

 

Hiro lets go of Baymax so he can take the camera and look at it properly. The Tadashi on the screen is holding it with one hand, directed at himself. He’s holding a piece of paper in the other hand with a number 24 scrawled on it in marker, except the four’s been crossed out and replaced with a five. “ _Fixed the coding error,”_ says the electronic version. His voice sounds tinny and hollow. _“He should work now, so let’s start him up. Baymax, ‘ow’.”_

 

The camera turns around to face Baymax, whose eyes blink slowly open as it registers the presence of a patient. “ _Hello, I am B--B—B—B—B—“_

 

 _“Uh oh,”_ Tadashi says quietly off-screen. “ _I didn’t mean to turn you into a beatboxer. Hang on, let’s try that again.”_

 

Tadashi skips a few videos, smiling as Hiro laughs at his many (many, _many)_ failures. _This is the one where Baymax shorted the power in the garage. He hit me in the face in this one, oh, and in the next one his arm just comes off entirely and then I couldn’t find it for three days…_

 

Hiro grins up at him, face warm and stomach fluttering in excitement and admiration. “You’ve done some _serious_ work on this.”

 

“I have,” Tadashi admits, toying with the camera instead of looking him in the eye. He’s visibly proud of himself, and Hiro gives into impulse and hugs him around the middle. Tadashi ruffles his hair. “It’s not even funny how long it took me to get him right, but, well, here he is. Baymax one point oh. I really, really hope he’s good enough.”

 

“He _is,”_ says Hiro firmly. “They’d be stupid not to let you in with tech like this. Hell, I’ll beat some sense into them myself if I have to.”

 

Tadashi hugs him properly. “My hero.”

 

Something drapes itself over Hiro’s back, making him jump slightly. A soft white balloon is just within his field of vision. Hiro, pressed up against Tadashi’s front by Baymax’s weight, huffs a laugh. “Your robot is melting on me.”

 

“Huh.” Tadashi peers at Baymax over Hiro’s head, eyes narrowed. “Funny. I hope you’re not malfunctioning right after I’ve built you.”

 

“Sounds like shoddy workmanship to me.”

 

“I beg to differ. I’ve stayed up until ass o’clock in the morning every day just to work on this guy. Ain’t that right, Baymax?”

 

“I am unfamiliar with the term, ‘ass o’clock’. Would you like me to check a different timezone?”

 

“It’s just an expression,” Tadashi says, not unkindly. Releasing Hiro, he puts his camera back into his bag where it belongs, surveying Baymax with his hands on his hips. Hiro hunches over slightly, Baymax flopped over him. “Well, I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

 

“When’s the showcase?” Hiro asks, extricating himself from the robot and patting it on the stomach. “A week, right?”

 

“Ten days,” Tadashi clarifies. He eyes Baymax critically, gaze resting over the patches of tarp and taped-up bits on his sides. “He looks like shit. What am I even thinking?”

 

“What did I just say?” Hiro tries and fails to be stern. “He’s _fine._ More than fine. He’s amazing, and so are you, and you’re gonna get into that school. I know I can’t tell you to stop worrying, but at least try.”

 

“I know, I guess I just – I really, _really_ want to get in,” Tadashi says a little helplessly.

 

“You will.” Hiro goes to him, arms outstretched, and Tadashi hesitates for the briefest of moments before going to him obediently. Hiro kisses his cheek, which makes Tadashi squirm a little. Hiro shushes him. “You can call me whenever you’re nervous, okay? I know how bad the jitters can be.”

 

“You have to study, though,” Tadashi says to Hiro’s shoulder. Hiro pats him on the head.

 

“I can spare a couple of hours talking to you. ‘Sides, being with you doesn’t equate to me not studying. Seeing you concentrate so hard makes _me_ want to concentrate. I don’t know how you do that, by the way.”

 

“Emotional osmosis,” says Tadashi, reluctantly allowing himself to be released. “Well, I guess I’ve shown you what I wanted you to see. Sorry I called you out here so late.”

 

“It’s not that late,” says Hiro, glancing at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty. “Do you need to work?”

 

“No, not tonight,” Tadashi says. “I took a couple days off. It’s hard, running around half-naked when all you can think about is how your rotors are doing. It’s almost as bad as wondering if you left the stove on.”

 

“Lucky for you, you don’t have a stove,” Hiro gives him a crooked smile. “Speaking of, when was the last time you ate or slept? You look like death warmed over. I’m pretty you could fit your toolbox into those bags under your eyes.”

 

“I’m sorry I can’t look pretty for you all the time,” Tadashi snorts. “I actually am kind of hungry, though. I still have some of that chicken pot pie you gave me the other day in the fridge. That sounds good right about now. Wanna join me?”

 

“As much as I’d love to, I should probably go back to my own house at some point.” Pity, really, because Hiro would _love_ to do nothing but sit around and enthuse about Baymax. “Give me a call when you reach? I’d hate to think you fell asleep at the wheel and crashed.”

 

“Believe it or not, I _can_ take care of myself,” Tadashi says, tugging on Hiro’s overly-long sleeve. “Have you taken this sweater off at all since I gave it to you?”

 

“Of course,” Hiro lies. “What do you want me to do, sleep in it?”

 

Tadashi shrugs. “I wouldn’t object. It’s cute on you. You look tiny.”

 

“I’ll start taking steroids just to spite you,” Hiro slips his hand through his sleeve so he can squeeze Tadashi’s fingers. Tadashi swings their hands gently. “I’ll be huge, like the bartender where you work. That’ll teach you.”

 

“I’d like you however you looked,” Tadashi says sincerely, making Hiro roll his eyes. “Come on, let me give you a ride back.”

 

“What about Baymax?” Hiro looks over his shoulder to where the robot is watching them intently. Hiro feels a little self-conscious. “How’s he gonna fit?”

 

“He’ll be camping out here for the night,” Tadashi says. “Come to think of it, maybe I should work on making him collapsible, for easy storage. Go on back to your charging station, buddy, it’s time for bed.”

 

Baymax waddles over to a little platform that Hiro hadn’t noticed before, squeaking as he goes. It’s _adorable._ “I cannot deactivate until you say you are satisfied with your care.”

 

“You wanna do the honours?” Tadashi prompts quietly.

 

Hiro grins. “Well, then, I’m satisfied with my care.”

 

Baymax’s eyes slide shut and he goes still completely. The only indication that he’s still functioning is the soft, regular beep of his charging port.

 

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Tadashi Takachiho,” Hiro almost murmurs. “Honestly. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

 

Tadashi squeezes his hand and lets go. “I just hope it’s worth it. Wait here, I’ll go get you a spare helmet.”

 

Hiro waits. Tadashi disappears into the employee lounge, and Hiro bounces on the balls of his feet. He’d give his left eyebrow for the Expo to hurry up and happen already, just so he could watch Professor Callaghan’s jaw drop from seeing an animated, talking nursebot built by someone who hadn’t had _one bit_ of training in the field. Who’d put it together with scrap material and borrowed textbooks, all while juggling two jobs and almost non-existent funding with nothing but the goodwill of a second year student to his advantage.

 

And the idiot doesn’t even see how incredible he is.

 

The idiot in question steps out of the lounge, flicking off the light behind him, a blue helmet in hand that he tosses in Hiro’s direction with a smile. “Here, my moped’s in the back. I can put on my jacket and ride it in here, if you want, so you just have to wait a few minutes, or we could just go get it--”

 

“I’m proud of you,” Hiro blurts out suddenly. “You…you did good.”

 

Tadashi blinks at him, and then at the helmet. “Why?”

 

“For building Baymax.” Hiro does his best to hide behind the helmet, holding it up to his face and peering out from behind its rim like that’s going to make him disappear. “I forgot to tell you that. Sorry.”

 

 

 

Very slowly, the corners of Tadashi’s mouth turn up into a tiny, genuine smile. “Thanks, Hiro. I really appreciate it. And I appreciate everything else you’ve done for me, too.” He comes forward, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, other hand hovering for a second in mid-air before it’s stroking Hiro’s face. “I’d still be in the same place, if it weren’t for you.”

 

“It’s not a _bad_ place,” Hiro says, still from behind the helmet. “Just not the place you want. I want you to have the things you want.”

 

“I think I’m getting there,” Tadashi says, rubbing his thumb along Hiro’s cheekbone. He releases his face and takes a step back, expression still open and warm. “Let me get my jacket, and we can go.”

 

Tadashi’s jacket is worn leather, and he shrugs it on with ease right before fitting his own bright red helmet onto his head. Wordlessly taking him by the hand, Tadashi leads Hiro outside, digging around in his pocket for the remote to the automatic shutters. They close with the worst noise Hiro’s ever heard. Tadashi puts his helmet on for him, despite protestations that Hiro does, in fact, know how to put on a buckle.

 

The ride back is chilly even though Hiro takes the opportunity to cling to Tadashi’s back. Not that he’d be able to leech any warmth through Tadashi’s jacket, anyway, but that doesn’t stop him from burying his face in the man’s back with a sigh. Tadashi needs no direction to get to his house, this time (not that he ever really did to begin with), so Hiro listens to the wind and watches lights go past in a blur.

 

Well. He supposes he would have had to reach home at _some_ point, as much as he’d give his other eyebrow to stay here forever, prepared to wander the streets of San Fransokyo as an eybrow-less anomaly. Clambering gingerly off Tadashi’s moped, Hiro unbuckles the strap of his helmet) by _himself,_ this time) and hands it back to Tadashi to put into that space under the seat. Tadashi tips back his visor, engine rumbling happily, just audible over the noise of the last few patrons in the café.

 

“I’ll see you soon?” he says hopefully.

 

That’s silly. It’s not like he could keep Hiro away, at this point. Weighing his options, Hiro regards Tadashi for what must be an uncomfortably long time. Tadashi looks at him, then at the ground, then back at him, waiting for a response.

 

Hiro decides to kiss him. Not that he’s really been given permission, but he doubts Tadashi will mind too much. It’s only a peck, anyway, that Tadashi returns after barely a pause. Their noses bump. “Okay,” Hiro says simply.

 

Tadashi beams. “Okay,” he says. Hiro steps back, and with a last wave goodbye, Tadashi revs his engine and goes home.

 

 

 

Hiro does too, stepping around busy tables and heading upstairs to his room. He avoids the creaky steps as usual, not wanting to make too much noise. Aunt Cass doesn’t usually come back downstairs until it’s time to close, content to leave the evening rush to the manager to handle. Hiro would rather not disturb her alone time.

 

She beats him to it as his head pops over the landing. “Have fun on your date?”

 

Hiro pauses with one foot suspended over the last stair. His aunt is curled up on the couch with her book, smiling sweetly at him like she knows exactly where he’s been. Which she probably does, actually, because he’s hardly ever anywhere else. “Were you watching me through the window?”

 

“I might have been,” she says conspiratorially. “I see he drives a motorcycle.”

 

“It’s only a moped, Aunt Cass,” Hiro grins, deciding that he doesn’t want to know if she saw him kissing Tadashi. She probably did, anyway. “He’s done with his project. It’s a robot nurse, and he’s really cute. You’ll like him.”

 

“Does this mean I’m invited to the Expo, then?”

 

“I don’t think he’d mind if you came,” Hiro says, coming around the couch to kiss her cheek. “He owes you for all the food, anyway.”

 

“Nonsense, I know what students are like. If you don’t feed them right, they’ll try to eat instant ramen three times a day.”

 

“He’s not a student _yet,”_ Hiro sing-songs, skipping off upstairs. “But he will be. I _know_ it.”

 

He almost trips over a dirty t-shirt when he gets back to his room, but he doesn’t mind. Flopping face-first into bed and making his iPod bounce, chittering madly as it goes, Hiro takes a deep breath and lets in out in an equally long sigh.

 

His stomach is flip-flopping in his torso. It’s not _unpleasant;_ it’s more anticipation than discomfort, and he rolls onto his back to look at the purple goop on the ceiling and grins.

 

 

 

One more week. Ten days, specifically, and then maybe Tadashi will finally be _happy._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once upon a time in an ancient, faraway land, there was a prince with two dicks. and because he had two dicks, all his life his parents searched far and wide for a bride for him with two vaginas. but they never found her. so the prince died a virgin.
> 
> legend has it, to this day, his spirit wanders the earth looking for twin holes to fuck. so if your nose is ever blocked, then you know the prince is here. and when it runs, you know he's done with you for now. the double dicked prince. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ i remembered this video exists and then i couldn't sleep for three days](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqzt3T4R38c)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm on the edge of my seat! I'm so far on the edge of my seat that I'm in somebody else's seat! You have very comfy lap, sir.

 

“This is going to be _amazing,”_ Tadashi says, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he surveys Baymax for the day. “Baymax is everything I ever dreamed he would be!”

 

Hiro can’t help but grin just as wide. The sofa in Mr Matsuda’s garage is still as shitty and uncomfortable as it was the first time Hiro sat on it, but he doesn’t mind. Leaning back, he puts his feet up and settles himself more comfortably against the armrest as Baymax watches both his humans with his peculiar brand of pillowy curiosity. “Might be a good idea to start writing out what you’re gonna say at the Expo.”

 

Tadashi flaps a hand at him. “Please, this whole thing is gonna be a cakewalk. I’ve got this, man, you’ll see.”

 

“ _Somebody’s_ in high spirits,” Hiro says coyly. “Not that you don’t have reason to be. See, I _told_ you things would turn out okay, but did you listen? No.”

 

“You were right,” Tadashi puts both hands on his hips, posture radiating pride. “For once.”

 

“I’m right about lots of things,” Hiro says. “Just this morning I predicted it would rain.”

 

“It’s sunny.”

 

“It’s raining _somewhere._ The point is, I was right about this. Honestly, if everyone just took my advice, the world would be a better place.”

 

“Your judgement isn’t always the best,” Tadashi says, turning around to flop onto the other end of the couch. “But I’ll concede. You were right. Now all we have to do is wait, and then everything will fall into place.”

 

Hiro ruffles Tadashi’s hair and smiles. “Nine more days, and you’ll officially be a part of SFIT.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“They’ll never let me in.”

 

Hiro sighs at the screen, Skype call making Tadashi’s voice lag a little. “You were happy yesterday. What gives?”

 

“What _gives_ is that I actually took a _look at my robot,”_ Tadashi says, scrubbing his hands over his face. His stubble is back in full force, and even on webcam, Hiro can see his eye bags. “What was I _thinking?_ A robotic _nurse?_ People have regular nurses, these are expensive and I’m going to be putting honest workers out of a _job--”_

 

“You’re going to be providing resources to a workforce that needs it,” Hiro says patiently. “Robots don’t make the same mistakes humans do. They’re not going to replace real nurses, Tadashi, they’re just going to help them out. You’re doing the medical world a favour.”

 

“They’re gonna _laugh_ at me,” Tadashi whines. Hiro would laugh at him right now, if he didn’t think Tadashi might actually burst into tears. “Oh, god. This was such a dumb idea, why did I think I could do this?”

 

“Because you _can,”_ Hiro says. “And you don’t have a choice. You’ve already signed up and you’ve got yourself a slot. You’ve passed the first hurdle, Tadashi. Half of the applicants this year didn’t even get invited to the Expo.”

 

“They won’t let me past the doors,” Tadashi says morosely. “I’m gonna be a laughing stock.”

 

“Well you’re not backing out,” Hiro says, hoping he’s at least vaguely firm. “Don’t be a baby. Just sit tight until the showcase, and then you can do your thing.”

 

“I don’t want to do my thing.”

 

“Tough,” Hiro says, reaching over to turn off his desk light. “Now go to bed, it’s late and you have work tomorrow.”

 

“You’re not my mom,” Tadashi mutters.

 

“Somebody has to be, you’re acting like a four-year-old. _”_

 

“Fine.” Sighing, Tadashi’s finger hovers over his mouse, eyes flicking up briefly to look at the webcam. “But this is a bad idea.”

 

“Or it could be an amazing one. Now _go to bed.”_

 

 _“_ Jesus, _fine.”_

 

 

* * *

 

“One week is not enough to rebuild him from scratch.”

 

“ _I already know how he works,”_ Tadashi says. He doesn’t sound like he’d gone to bed, although he always sounds a little raspy over the phone. “ _All I have to do is scrounge up some better materials. I mean, he’s got patches all over him and that’s just unacceptable if I’m going to show him in public--”_

 

“He’s _fine,”_ Hiro huffs, exasperated. “Nobody expects a huge budget from a student, Tadashi, they’re gonna understand.”

 

_“But he looks so shabby!”_

 

“You’re gonna hurt his feelings,” Hiro says, offering a smile to one of his classmates as she walks past. “Don’t you have work to do? Go fix a car, it’ll help you take your mind off things. Do _not_ try to take your robot apart. You’ll never be able to put him back together in time. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

“ _I can’t promise anything,”_ Tadashi says, but Hiro can tell from his sullenness that he’s reluctantly agreeing. _“But I can do a couple of tweaks--“_

 

“Nothing you can’t fix in twenty minutes,” Hiro says sternly. “I have to go. I have class. _Promise_ me you won’t do anything drastic.”

 

“ _But--”_

 

 _“No._ You’ll thank me later.” Taking the phone away from his ear to look at the time, Hiro makes a face and pokes his head into the lecture theatre. It hasn’t started yet, but almost everyone is seated. “I’ll talk to you in a bit. If I find out you’ve done anything, I’m gonna hit you. I mean it.”

 

“ _You’re the cause of my mediocrity.”_

 

“I’ll buy you a fruit basket to make up for it.”

 

“… _not even a little upgrade?”_

 

 _“_ Don’t you _dare.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

“It’s not that big of a deal if I don’t get in,” Tadashi shrugs, feet up on the sofa as he flips through a magazine. Hiro, two textbooks open and his tablet in his lap, frowns.

 

“Well, I guess. It’s not gonna be the end of the world.”

 

“Yeah. I’m not _losing_ anything. Who needs SFIT? Not me. I’m happy with being a stripper if this whole thing doesn’t work out.”

 

Hiro debates on whether or not to comment. He decides against. “Whatever makes you happy, I guess.”

 

“I’ll be fine either way.”

 

“You will. Don’t worry. If you do stay a stripper, I’ll be sure to visit you every day.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

“Any time.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
I need to distract myself. Absolutely do not talk to me about Baymax._

 

Hiro stares at the text message, and then sighs. _Okay. I won’t talk to you about Baymax._

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
Good. How was your day?_

 

_Sent message: Sunflower  
It was fine. Aunt Cass tried making wonton. Turned out pretty good._

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
Ah, I miss her food. You still haven’t given me that bento you promised. _

 

_Sent message: Sunflower  
I never promised you a bento. _

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
Did too!_

 

_Sent message: Sunflower  
You promised yourself a bento. Don’t put words in my mouth._

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
:(?_

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
:((?_

 

_Message from: Sunflower_

_:(((?_

 

_Sent message: Sunflower  
Oh my god, stop. _

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
:((((?_

 

_Sent message: Sunflower  
Ughhhh fine fine I’ll find you a bento oh my god you’re so annoying_

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
:D!_

 

_Sent message: Sunflower  
Dork._

 

_Sunflower is typing…_

 

_Sunflower is typing…_

 

_Sunflower is typing…_

 

_Message from: Sunflower  
shit what if Baymax runs out of battery after I bring him to the Expo_

 

Hiro sighs, turns off his phone, and goes back to reading.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Do you think if I sucked Callaghan’s dick--”

 

“ _No.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tadashi sighs so loudly Hiro’s sure he can hear it all the way from here.

 

The librarian gives them a nasty look. Hiro sighs back; he’d thought going to a public library would stop Tadashi from being embarrassing, but the idiot is still melting all over the furniture like a languishing Victorian heroine. Hiro puts the cap back onto his highlighter and steeples his fingers. “What are you doing?”

 

Tadashi sighs again. Impressive lung span, actually. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

 

Hiro puts the highlighter down. This is probably going to be a long conversation. “What did you let me talk you into?”

 

“You know, just, _this,”_ Tadashi gestures vaguely, sliding down in his chair until his cheek is resting on the table. Seems to be a habit he picked up from Hiro, come to think of it. “This life wasn’t made for me. Look at all these people reading. They look smart. I’m not smart. I should just go back to the garage.”

 

“You promised you’d keep me company,” Hiro says calmly. “You’re not going anywhere. Now be quiet, I need to study.”

 

“What am I even doing this for?” Tadashi says, dropping his voice to a whisper when the librarian shushes him. “I don’t deserve to be in university. I don’t even deserve to be in a library. I’m not worthy. Just leave me here to die, Hiro, I’m not worth it.”

 

Hiro goes back to reading his book. “You owe me for all the food I keep getting you. If you’re gonna die, please do it after you’ve paid me back.”

 

“You can sell my organs. That would be more than enough.”

 

“I’m not sure anyone would want them, they’ve already been used.”

 

Tadashi puts his face into the table. “Not even my body parts are worth anything.”

 

Hiro pats him on the head, but doesn’t look up from his book. “There, there. Three more days and you can die all you want. Hell, I’ll even find you a saucer of water to drown yourself in. Will that make you happy?”

 

Tadashi sighs again, even louder this time. Hiro just ignores him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Is that an _actual rabbit’s foot oh my god that’s disgusting.”_

 

“It’s a good luck charm!”

 

“Throw it _away!”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _“I’m scared_ ,” Tadashi admits, voice so quiet Hiro almost misses it.

 

He doesn’t, though. Blinking himself half-awake, he rolls further into the sheets, phone pressed comfortably to his ear. Tadashi sounds tinny and far away, but with his eyes shut, Hiro can imagine him being right there, sitting by the window with one foot on the sill. “I know.”

 

“ _I just…I don’t know what to do, Hiro. I’ve never been this scared in my life. I know I’ve got nothing to lose, but… all of this still feels like a gamble.”_

 

Hiro breathes out, long and slow. “Sometimes it’s worth the risk. You have a good shot. You can do this.”

 

_“I’m afraid I won’t have the guts to even show up tomorrow.”_

 

“You will, Tadashi. I know you will. You’ve spent so long on Baymax, and…and he means something to you, right? You made him for your dad.”

 

_“I guess.”_

 

“Then show him to the world the way you intended to,” Hiro says around a yawn. The sheets are warm and smooth against the skin of his arms, and a patch of moonlight filters in through the blinds, illuminating Megabot. The battle bot kit hasn’t gotten any use in a while. Megabot’s face has been stuck on ‘happy’ for some time close to a month. “Even if you don’t do this for me, even if you don’t do this for _you,_ do it for him. It’s what you wanted for him. Baymax is your gift to your dad. You can’t not give it to him, you know?”

 

 _“I know,”_ Tadashi says. There’s a long pause, during which Hiro’s breathing slows and his eyes slide back shut, the only other sounds the creak of his ceiling fan and Tadashi’s steady breathing on the other side of the line. “ _Thank you. For everything, Hiro. I don’t think I could have done this alone.”_

 

“You don’t have to try,” Hiro mumbles. “I’m here. I’m always here. Not giving up on you, just like I promised. We’ll do this. Tomorrow, you and me, everything’s gonna be okay.”

 

An even longer pause. The corners of Hiro’s mind fade a little bit, body pleasantly heavy and unresponsive as he drifts slowly into that space between _dreaming_ and _real._ Tadashi murmurs something quiet and soothing, three syllables that are lost even as Hiro manages to bring himself back to the present. He manages a soft, inquisitive hum. “Whd’y’say?”

 

He can almost hear Tadashi smile. “ _Never mind. You sound tired. Maybe you should go to bed.”_

 

“You too. Big day. Gotta rest.”

 

 _“I will.”_ There’s rustling on the other end of the line, like Tadashi’s making himself comfortable and leaning back against the pillows. “ _I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, okay?”_

 

Hiro snuffles into his pillow. “G’night.”

 

_“Goodnight, Hiro. You’re right. Everything’s gonna be okay.”_

* * *

 

 

 

SFIT has always been a little bit pompous.

 

Hiro thinks this as he hurries into the Expo hall, illuminated as it is like a beacon against the San Fransoyko skyline. Aunt Cass is parking the car, but Tadashi should already be inside by now, getting his number and making his last preparations. He’ll be one of the first to present, and if Hiro’s right, the poor guy’s probably worrying knots into his stomach as he waits. Better than Hiro, he supposes. Hiro had spent the time before _his_ presentation sitting in a closet and panicking.

 

He should have offered to help move Baymax, although Tadashi had said he’d had it covered. Jogging up the steps, sneakers squeaking as he goes, Hiro shoulders through the crowd and stops just outside the small side-room where he knows the registration tables must be.

 

“ _There_ you are,” he says, waving to get Tadashi’s attention and smiling as the man visibly sags in relief. He’s with the bartender and the bouncer, and Hiro says hello to them before latching onto the object of his interest. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Have you registered?”

 

“Yeah, paperwork’s done and Baymax is in the preparation room charging,” Tadashi says, rubbing his arms. He’s in a blazer that’s a little bit big on him, although Hiro notices he’s still wearing skinnies and his nice pair of Converse. “God, I wish they’d let me have a booth instead of making me go up on stage in front of everyone.”

 

Hiro pats him on the shoulder. It feels weirdly like Tadashi has body guards. “They only give the booths to people who can’t present on stage,” he says, not unkindly, stepping aside for a girl hauling what looks like a floating ball of electricity behind her. “You’re no stranger to being on stage. It’s like you said before, the lights’ll block out the audience. Just focus on Baymax.”

 

“I guess,” Tadashi says, although he doesn’t seem very happy about it. Worrying his lip, he reaches out and tugs on Hiro’s sleeve. It’s the same oversized sweater Tadashi had given him. “You’re seriously wearing this again? Do you ever wash it?”

 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“How did you even get Baymax here?” Hiro asks, stretching his head to see if there’s a forklift hiding somewhere. “Did you take him on the subway?”

 

“These guys drove me,” Tadashi jerks his head to the bouncer and the bartender. “Figured I’d freak out a lot less if I went with friends.”

 

“Speaking of,” Hiro says, swiveling his head around like an owl. “Mine are definitely around here somewhere.” He squints. A blonde head is sticking out among the crowd like a pretty coconut tree among shrubs. It seems to spot him, and Hiro grins. “Are you okay with meeting them? I can chase them away, if you want.”

 

Tadashi looks doubtful. “I guess I don’t mind.”

 

Hiro taps Tadashi’s nose. “You sure? Are you okay with me introducing you by your name?”

 

Tadashi snorts. “What else would you call me?”

 

“Sunflower. Sunfire, Stripperman, sugarplum, Wasabi – you remember, _Japanese and extra hot--_ ”

 

Fred sticks his head over Hiro’s shoulder. “Who’s Wasabi?”

 

Hiro blinks, and then points at the bartender. “He is. Get him to tell you about that time he spilled Wasabi on his shirt in a crowded restaurant.”

 

“Wha—that _never happened—”_

 

“Wasabi, my man,” Fred grins, grabbing him by the hand and shaking it with more force than probably necessary. “Name’s Fred. Tell me all about yourself.”

 

Hiro surreptitiously steps away from them, bringing Tadashi with him even as the bouncer snickers and the bartender sends Hiro a look of absolute outrage. Honey Lemon is picking her way through the crowd with the grace of a ballerina, dress swishing around her knees, and she offers Tadashi a smile as she adjusts her glasses. “Hey, Hiro! How’ve you been?”

 

Hiro turns to face her, risking a glance at Tadashi, who’s running a hand through his hair nervously. Hiro discreetly laces their fingers together. “All good. Just came to watch. This is my, uhm, my friend. Tadashi.”

 

Honey Lemon’s smile flickers as her gaze darts to their joined hands. Realisation dawns; her bright green eyes narrow slightly as she realises that _this is the one,_ shoulders squaring as she prepares to give Tadashi a good telling off like she’d threatened she would. Tadashi shrinks back, squeezing Hiro’s fingers hard enough to hurt, blinking up at Honey Lemon like he might actually start to cry.

 

“He’s presenting today,” Hiro blurts out. “It’s a robot nurse. He’s super nervous, he really wants to get in to SFIT.”

 

She pauses. Her lips are still parted, on the cusp of starting a (probably gentle) scolding, but poor Tadashi looks so spooked that Hiro can _see_ the thoughts warring across her face. Eventually sympathy wins, and she deflates. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do absolutely fine. There’s no need to be nervous, we’ll all be rooting for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Tadashi almost squeaks. Hiro would laugh if he weren’t slightly terrified himself. “I, uh. I should go check on my robot.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Hiro says quickly, offering Honey Lemon an apologetic smile. “You’re going to try to take Baymax apart if I let you go by yourself. I’ll see you later, Honey. Tadashi’s friends are there with Fred. You should go talk to them, they’re really nice.” Never mind that the bartender had over-served him that one time and the bouncer looks like she could kill a man with a single stare. She’s sort of staring at Honey Lemon right now, actually, although Honey looks weirdly pleased about it. “Bye.”

 

“Bye,” she says absently, wandering over to the little group as Tadashi tugs Hiro through the throngs and toward the safety of the preparation room. Hiro goes willingly. His face hurts a little from smiling, although Tadashi still looks shaken.

 

“You okay, sugarplum?”

 

“Why does she hate me?”

 

“Well, I might have spent a lot of time complaining about you,” Hiro admits. “But in a nice way! Mostly about how much I liked you. But she doesn’t hate you, she just wants to scold you a little for not dating me sooner. Don’t worry, she’s not really all that scary.”

 

Tadashi doesn’t have much to say about that, although he does frown quite heavily. Hiro gives him a sheepish smile. “You’d better clear my name, Hiro.”

 

“I’ll get to work on that the moment I can.” The glass doors to the preparation room slide open with a quiet _woosh,_ noise from the outside dying down the moment they step inside. About twelve other panicky-looking kids are fretting over their inventions, none of them sparing a glance to the newcomers as Tadashi heads to Baymax’s charging port. “Man, I forgot what it was like to be here.”

 

“They’re all babies,” Tadashi grumbles. “I’m gonna look like a senior citizen compared to them.”

 

“You can offer your classmates life advice when they need it,” Hiro says soothingly, sitting on the couch and patting the space next to him. Tadashi joins him, and Hiro goes back to holding his hand. “Come on. You have about an hour. Let’s talk about something fun.”

 

 

 

 

Tadashi leans onto the couch and sighs. The bustle around them continues, but Hiro manages to coax him into inane conversation, voice as calm as he can keep it as he chats about nothing in particular. Tadashi’s hand is a little sweaty, but Hiro doesn’t mind. He remembers what it was like for him, this time last year. Eventually Tadashi’s shoulders relax a little bit, and although he doesn’t offer much in the way of conversation, Hiro can see when his breathing evens out into something approaching normal.

 

People are leaving the room one by one. A friendly attendant with a clip board pops in and out to call out names, and Tadashi flinches each and every time. Hiro shushes him and goes back to talking, keeping an eye out for when the attendant comes back in to call out a heavily accented _Takachiho_.

 

That’s the five minute warning. Tadashi stands up and activates Baymax, who notes calmly that Tadashi’s hands appear to be shaking. Hiro pulls his face over and gives him a kiss, ignoring all the other people in the room who, in all probability, aren’t paying too much attention anyway. “You’re gonna be okay. Take a deep breath.”

 

“You’re up, Mr Takachiho,” calls the attendant from the door. Tadashi’s face is breaking out into cold sweat even as Hiro holds it, but he squares his shoulders all the same.

 

“I’m ready.”

 

“Last kiss,” Hiro says, pulling him down again quickly. Tadashi gives him one small, lopsided smile, and then takes Baymax by the hand and follows the attendant out of the room.

 

 

 

 

Hiro’s running back to the main hall the moment Tadashi’s through the door. It’s not hard to find Honey Lemon, who’s with the others. Seems Aunt Cass has located her as well, because she ruffles his hair affectionately as he squeezes past people to reach them.

 

There he is. Face almost as pale as Baymax, dwarfed both by the robot and by the huge stage. There’s a screen behind him displaying all of Baymax’s specs. Tadashi clears his throat, eyes roaming around the crowd. They rest on Hiro. “My name is Tadashi Takachiho, and I’ve got something that I think is pretty cool.”

 

 _Breathe,_ Hiro mouths. _You got this._

 

 

 

Tadashi’s voice cracks. It cracks, and shakes, but he goes through the process of showing what Baymax can do, activating him with a simple _ow_ and rattling off a list of medical procedures that the robot knows. Half of the crowd murmurs appreciatively as Baymax bandages a fake injury on Tadashi’s arm. The other half coos when Baymax innocently remarks that Tadashi’s pulse is elevated. It makes Tadashi laugh, at least, a nervous little noise that has the crowd applauding him in encouragement, Hiro probably cheering the loudest.

 

Tadashi goes on. He gains momentum as he goes, voice becoming more animated as he gestures in excitement, colour slowly coming back to his face as Baymax picks him up to demonstrate how strong he is despite his squishy appearance. He’s a natural. Hiro’s heart swells in his chest and he hides his smile behind his hand, rocking on the balls of his feet right up until Tadashi finishes his presentation and bows.

 

He’s _perfect._ He did perfectly, and Hiro cranes his neck to see Professor Callaghan right in front of the crowd, noting something on his clipboard with his mouth curved into a smile. The crowd claps as Tadashi leads Baymax off stage. Hiro fights his way free of them so he can get closer, where Tadashi’s just getting off the last step.

 

Hiro barrels towards him and launches himself into his arms, regardless of the fact that they’re in full view. Tadashi doesn’t seem to mind too much. He squeezes Hiro hard enough to lift him off his feet, burbling a laugh as Hiro chatters nonsense at him in excitement. “Oh my god, oh my god, that was _amazing.”_

 

 _“_ How’d I do? Did you see me? How’d I do, Hiro?”

 

“You were _awesome,”_ Hiro almost yells, delighted even as Tadashi sets him back on his feet. “I saw the judges, they were _stoked,_ Tadashi, you’re gonna get in for sure I _know_ you are--”

 

“Tadashi!” Honey Lemon’s sprinting towards them, waving her phone over her head. Hiro glances down. Tadashi isn’t the only one who can run in high heels. Seems she’s decided not to scold him after all, because she’s wrapping both arms around him the moment he’s within reach, iPhone held aloft in victory. “Oh my god, you were so _good!_ We have to take a selfie, come on, guys!”

 

It’s kind of a weird group of people, Hiro thinks as he’s squeezed into Tadashi’s side. His college friends, his aunt, three people he met at a strip club, a big white robot, and him. He smiles awkwardly for the camera as Honey Lemon snaps about twelve photos in rapid succession. Tadashi’s warm and visibly elated right next to him. Risking a glance at Aunt Cass, Hiro stands up on tip toes and presses a kiss to Tadashi’s cheek.

 

“I’m making a group so we can share the photos,” Honey Lemon says, finally giving them permission to stop posing. Hiro stays glued to Tadashi’s side, though. “Oh, I’m instagramming this one, and _this_ one can go on Twitter – guys, quick, I need phone numbers!”

 

“I don’t know what to do with myself now,” Tadashi huffs a laugh right into Hiro’s ear. Hiro’s stomach flops pleasantly at the sound. “I feel like bouncing off the walls.”

 

“We can go look at all the other tech,” Hiro says, letting Tadashi hold his hand. “There’s probably some sweet stuff around. Not as good as yours, though.”

 

“Flatterer,” Tadashi says, although he seems pretty pleased regardless.

 

Baymax waddles to them, having been released from Honey Lemon’s fawning for the moment, and stops to regard them thoughtfully. “You are happy.”

 

Tadashi grins at him. “Yeah, buddy, I am.”

 

“I will give you a hug,” Baymax informs them, wrapping them both into his balloon arms. Hiro hears a camera snap somewhere in the background, and Tadashi bursts out laughing.

 

“I promise you I didn’t programme him to do that.”

 

Hiro headbutts his chin, arms pinned to his side as they are. “He picks things up from _you_ , dummy. If you’re gonna keep hugging me, of course he’s gonna start doing it.”

 

“There, there,” Baymax says, patting Hiro’s head in what he apparently thinks is a soothing manner. The camera flash goes off again. Hiro sighs and submits to it until they’re both released.

 

“Come on. We’ve got some time left to wait; we might as well have some fun.”

 

 

 

 

It’s a lot like a date, wandering around to look at what the potential freshman have to show. The rest of the herd gives them space, following behind at a respectable distance at Hiro snorts at things behind his hand. _Seriously, a glow-in-the-dark flashlight? You’d think standards would have gone up this year, not down – are those anti-gravity boots? Okay. Okay, I gotta admit, that’s pretty cool._

 

The final presentation ends for the night, and Hiro and Tadashi clap along even though they hadn’t actually been paying attention. The people in front of the stage disperse noisily, and Tadashi’s hand goes clammy again in Hiro’s palm. Hiro squeezes his fingers reassuringly and looks up, expression welcoming even though his heart has started hammering as well. “You okay, man?”

 

“This is it,” Tadashi says quietly. “They’re gonna tell me if I made it in.”

 

Other hopefuls are gathering back into the preparation room, ready to hear a few words from the panel of judges for the night. Tadashi’s anxiety is palpable. Hiro chews his lip as he watches Tadashi’s face, massaging his hand to try to keep him calm. “Want me in there with you?”

 

Tadashi fidgets with the hem of his blazer. “Is that allowed?”

 

“Probably not, but I can try.”

 

Tadashi nods after a little pause. Hiding as best as he can, Hiro sneaks his way into the preparation room, taking a seat near the back as Professor Callaghan speaks in quiet undertones to the two others on the panel. Watkins, the math professor, and a dark-skinned woman in a hijab whom Hiro assumes must be Khan.

 

There are the usual words of welcome, along with the assurances that everyone’s done well, to soften the blow that’s going to come to many. Tadashi squeezes his eyes shut and waits. Callaghan works his way down the list of people who’ve made it through, in alphabetical order – _Takachiho, T is always at the end, it’s okay, he’s gonna make it, he’s gonna make it, he’s gonna make it—_

 

 

 

“Takachiho,” Callaghan says, eyes resting on Hiro for a brief moment before he goes back to the list.

 

 

 

Oh god. Oh thank _god._ Hiro lets out a huge breath and feels Tadashi do the same, hands shaking all over again until Hiro reaches over to take one. There are some cheers and some whispers of disappointment when the role-call ends. The silence breaks; a boy storms out and a girl starts crying, and a trio of friends all but shriek in excitement.

 

Hiro and Tadashi stand still in the middle of the chaos. They’re handing out the official acceptance letters now. New students part as Professor Callaghan strides toward the two, eyebrow raised as Hiro quickly lets go of Tadashi’s hand and considers running for the exit.

 

“I wasn’t aware you were reapplying, Mr Hamada,” Professor Callaghan says dryly. Hiro squirms. Callaghan looks from Hiro to Tadashi, pieces coming together in his head as the corner of his mouth lifts into the kind of wry smile that Hiro privately feels all old people must have. He’ll need to ask his aunt when he’ll be developing that particular skill. “Mr Takachiho, yes?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Tadashi croaks. He has to look up at Callaghan, like most people do. Hiro can feel him trying to hide behind him.

 

Callaghan hands him his acceptance letter. Tadashi stares at it, stamped with the official SFIT seal in red and gold and blue. “Congratulations. Your work was very impressive. If I’m not mistaken, you applied for a scholarship.”

 

Tadashi takes the paper and swallows. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Your viva will begin shortly. Stay here until you’re called,” Professor Callaghan says. He pauses, and then smiles in a rather more dad-like way. “Good luck. You’ve done well so far, keep it up. Mr Hamada, please stop pretending to be an applicant and go wait outside.”

 

Tadashi stutters. “Thank you,” he manages, but Callaghan doesn’t do much more than wave as he strides back to his cohorts. Tadashi’s gone stock-still, paper clutched in his hands, knuckles white as Hiro tries to come to terms with his impending heart-attack. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

 

“Don’t freak out,” Hiro says, freaking out. “ _Oh man –_ okay, everything is gonna be fine. You’ve passed this stage, now we have to go through the final hurdle. That’s all. I can probably find a way to stay with you, oh my god shit is getting _real.”_

 

Tadashi takes a few deep breaths. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Hiro, go on and wait outside before you get in trouble. I’ll be alright, don’t worry.”

 

Hiro bites his lip. “Are you _sure?_ Because I’m small, I can probably hide somewhere if I have to.”

 

Tadashi gives him a weak smile. “Go. I’ll catch up with you later.”

 

 

 

 

Hiro goes, albeit reluctantly. His aunt and his friends are waiting outside, and Hiro tells them the good news. People are already starting to leave the hall, happy families chattering as attendants start packing up the equipment and cleaning up the mess. Hiro and his entourage follow. Sitting on the steps, Hiro zones out as Fred and Honey Lemon make most of the conversation. Aunt Cass squeezes his shoulder, but it’s all he can do to acknowledge it.

 

It feels like _days,_ even though he’s only really out here for a few hours. The lights inside start to go off, and the conversation lulls to a stop. Only the outside and the front of the hall is illuminated. They’re not the only ones out here, because there are several other families of scholarship applicants, but Hiro would rather not pay them any attention. They all look as nervous as he feels. He’d made the mistake of smiling at what must have been somebody’s sister, and she’d promptly burst into tears. Fingers twitching, Hiro busies himself with looking through his phone. Honey Lemon’s sent him at least fourteen photos, mostly of him smiling awkwardly or being unwillingly hugged by Baymax. And there’s that one of him kissing Tadashi’s face, which Honey was kind enough to send him privately. Finger hovering over the screen for a moment, Hiro sets that one as his background and then immediately hides his phone in his pocket.

 

He puts his face in his hands. It’s cold and he’s on tenterhooks, heartbeat erratic and palms sweaty. He can hear hushed voices coming from inside. They’re getting closer. Close enough that he can make out what they’re saying, in fact. He’s on his feet in an instant.

 

The glass doors open and the three professors come strolling out, easy-as-you-please. Hiro makes eye contact with Callaghan. The old man gives him that _grin_ again, the one that makes Hiro want to cry, and Hiro hurtles back into the hall before anyone else can stop him.

 

Tadashi looks kind of dazed. He’s near the back of the crowd, wandering out by himself, other students jostling past him as they either bounce or shuffle their feet. Hiro pushes his way past and latches onto Tadashi’s front, fingers clenching in the material of his blazer as three different sentences try to come out of his mouth at once. _“Tadashi.”_

 

 

 

“I got in,” he says dreamily, not quite focused on Hiro even though they’re making eye contact. “They grilled me for half an hour and that lady is scary as hell, but I got in.”

 

Hiro makes a small, pathetic noise halfway between a chuckle and a whimper. “You got the scholarship?”

 

“I got the scholarship,” Tadashi says, still a little zombie-like as the rest of the group finally finds them, Baymax toddling behind. “Not the whole scholarship, but they’re paying for my tuition fees. I still have to pay my rent, but it’ll be pretty cheap if I live on campus, and – I did it. It worked. I’m going to your nerd school.”

 

Hiro lets go of him and claps both hands over his mouth. All he can feel now is a sense of _relief_ that’s turning his knees watery and making him want to sag into Tadashi’s chest. The heavy weight in his chest disintegrates into nothing, all of his muscles uncoiling into goopy puddles of happiness. “What did they ask you? How did it go?”

 

“They asked me about myself and I told them the truth. About my jobs and my dad, and,” he pauses, realizing that they’re not alone, and there are people listening to him who aren’t aware of the situation. He gives them a weak smile. “Hey guys. Good news.”

 

 

Pin-drop silence. Almost seven full seconds of it. And then –

 

“ _Selfie oh my god this is going on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and my Tumblr—”_

 

“-I’m so _proud_ of you! Both of you! Dinner is on me tonight, you’re all invited--”

 

“-one of us! One of us-”

 

“--not bad, Takachiho--”

 

“--you are all very excited--”

 

“--seriously, who decided my name was Wasabi—”

 

“— _one of us—”_

 

“ _Guys,”_ Tadashi wheezes as he’s rapidly trapped in the middle of a group hug he didn’t ask for. Hiro sympathises – Fred’s hugging him so hard he thinks he’s cracked a rib. “Oh my god, I’m gonna suffocate before I’ve even finished filling out all the paperwork.”

 

“But you’re in _SFIT_ now!” Honey Lemon enthuses. Hiro smiles; she’shaving kittens, poor girl, even though she barely knows Tadashi. “Oh, I’m so _glad_ _,_ Hiro’s told us how badly you wanted to go here.”

 

Tadashi scratches the back of his neck, radiating embarrassed happiness as he’s manhandled by a group of people who seem to have adopted him permanently. “Yeah…I just – man, I think I’m still in shock.”

 

“We can talk about it over dinner,” Aunt Cass says, pinching his cheeks the way she always does with Hiro. She’s _definitely_ adopted Tadashi. “Come on, I’ll make my famous hot wings. They’re so spicy they’re not even on the menu. Your faces are all gonna melt off, it’ll be _great.”_

 

“Free food is the best kind of food,” Fred says seriously. “Unless it’s mouldy. Then it's not as good, but still better than food you have to pay for.”

 

Aunt Cass leads the way. The bartender and the bouncer say something about _we’re going home_ and _have a nice night._ Aunt Cass is having none of it, and she herds them all off in the direction of the parking lot, already organizing who gets to ride in which car and where all the extra plates are. Hiro sighs; hes exhausted. Not in the stayed-up-until-morning-working-on-a-project kind of way, but the kind of tiredness weighed down by accomplishment, where everything has worked out perfectly for once and all you want to do is curl up with a mug of hot chocolate and daydream. He smiles. Food and Tadashi sound like a really good idea.

 

Except, Tadashi isn’t with him. Instead he's standing at the top of the steps, head tilted up at the stars. He’s staring at the building, Hiro realises. This is _his_ school now.

 

 

Waiting at the bottom, Hiro feels his heart swell a little in his chest. “Hey.”

 

Tadashi turns. His teeth are white and wonderfully straight as he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners and making him look so improbably _handsome_ that Hiro wants to kiss him. “Hey.”

 

 

 

 

Instead, Hiro holds out a hand. “You coming, freshman?”

 

 

Laughing, Tadashi skips down the steps to take it, and lets himself be led back home. "You bet."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to nerd school, nerd. 
> 
> I DONT KNOW IF I TOLD YOU ALL THIS ALREADY but i'm gonna tell you again anyway THE OTHER DAY I WAS AT THE PARK and there was this little yellow lab coming towards me, so i got on my knees to maybe say hello and he spRINTED
> 
> AND HEADBUTTED ME IN THE FACE
> 
> his people had to wrestle him back down and he licked me and also booped my nose with his nose and did his best to climb all over my dress and I got laughed at by several people at once
> 
> 10/10 would risk setting off my allergies again


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Tadashi is the kind of weirdo who puts milk in the bowl before the cereal.

 

“Do you really need all these clothes?” Hiro wheezes, hauling an armful of sweaters out of Tadashi’s closet. They’d been neatly folded, at one point, but now half of them are spilling out of Hiro’s arms and onto the floor. He catches one with a foot before it can succumb to gravity, realizing right after that he’s doomed to stand here like a flamingo forever.

He whines for Tadashi to come rescue him. The man looks up from where he’s cross-legged on the floor, labelling boxes with black Sharpie. He sighs and stands. Taking the clothes out of Hiro’s hands with annoyingly little effort, he deposits them all on the couch and sits to re-fold them, Hiro trailing along with the lone, terrible purple cardigan he’d saved. “I don’t have that many. In fact, half my stuff is just costumes from the club.”

“How come they let you keep those?” Hiro sits on Tadashi’s knee just to be annoying. It’s bony and digs into his ass, and he wriggles a bit to get comfortable. Tadashi continues folding around him, and Hiro watches the clothes pile up in his lap.

“Dunno. They just sort of ended up with me, not a hundred percent sure how. I’m not about to go all the way there and see if they want ‘em back, though. Nobody asked about them when I quit, so I figure I’ll just donate whatever I won’t use.”

“Keep the playboy one,” Hiro says, making Tadashi pause in straightening to collar to pinch Hiro’s side. “Do all your neighbours know you’re moving out?”

“Mhm. Rajpal insisted we throw a party and that nurse from number 3 showed up drunk and fell asleep in the punch. I think the Russian lady tried to give me life advice, but I didn’t understand any of it.”

Hiro settles more comfortably against Tadashi’s front. “There was another tenant, right?”

“Didn’t show. Still not sure they’re alive in there.”

Hiro pats Tadashi’s cheek. The apartment’s a mess, all cupboards open and their contents organized into piles, electronics unplugged and lying all over the floor looking a little bit like carcasses. It’s a lot like Hiro’s bedroom, actually, although still somewhat cleaner. Tadashi, in a startling show of responsibility, had started packing up a full week before moving day. “How are you gonna cart all this stuff halfway across town?”

“Wasabi’s minivan,” Tadashi says, finishing his work and resting his hands on Hiro’s stomach. They’re warm through Hiro’s green B-mo t-shirt. “The building I’ll be living in has an elevator, thank god, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem getting everything up to the third floor. Anyway, the biggest thing I had to move was Baymax, and he’s already in storage at SFIT.”

“You decided on décor yet?”

“Well, I was thinking of putting a great big mural of you on the wall.”

“Obviously, but what else?” Huffing happily, Hiro shifts around so that he’s sitting sideways in Tadashi’s lap, arms looping themselves around his neck and Tadashi’s hand on his knee. The clothes go onto the couch. “Saw one of those lame Keep Calm and Do Science posters a few days ago, thought you might like it.”

Tadashi hums in approval. “You can help me decide when I get the keys. I have no idea if it’ll look exactly like in the pictures online, but it’ll be nicer than this place, even if it’s just a bedroom.”

“Least you’ll have a bathroom attached,” Hiro shrugs. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass to have to go all the way to the end of the hall every time. You should just let me pee in the sink.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not even once? Come on, you won’t even be living here anymore.”

_“No.”_

“Ah, no, don’t pinch me, you bastard,” Hiro gasps, folding in on himself to escape Tadashi’s wrath. “Okay, okay, I won’t pee in the sink, _god_. You’re such a buzzkill.”

“And you’re a barbarian,” Tadashi retorts, jogging his knees so Hiro tips onto his chest. “I can see you laughing, stupid, so stop trying to gross me out.”

Hiro plants a kiss onto his cheek. It’s ruined a little by the snuffle of laughter that escapes, but Tadashi accepts it anyway, making fishlips at him until Hiro kisses him properly. There’s nothing left of their pizza but the smell of cloying cheese, and Hiro’s comfortable and warm and it’s dark enough outside that he can shut his eyes and pretend there’s nothing here but Tadashi. A thumb and a forefinger rub circles against the back of his neck, right at the base of his skull, and Hiro sighs. This is nice. It’s summer and he has nothing to do but spend time with his friends and help Tadashi move into his new room on campus, for which Tadashi is quite kindly paying him back by leaving slow kisses against his throat.

He stops when he gets to the collar of Hiro’s shirt, like he always does, and leans against Hiro’s shoulder instead. Hiro hugs his head. Making out with Tadashi will never not make his toes curl, because it feels fantastic. Leads to a lot of near-misses, though. It’s only Hiro’s quick wit and the skillful recollection of both Professor Callaghan and Mochi’s litterbox that regularly keep the tightness in his pants in check. Although, he sort of gets the feeling that Tadashi knows what’s going on. Hiro’s red face probably gives it away, even if Tadashi’s usually nice enough not to tease him for it.

_Usually._ The look on his face right now is positively angelic, blinking up at Hiro with big brown eyes and a barely-suppressed smile. “Is everything okay?”

Hiro rolls his eyes and resolutely stares at the wall. _“Peachy.”_

The façade cracks a little around the edges. Tadashi’s shoulders are shaking, damn him, and Hiro releases him and slides off his lap to get back to work. “Aw, come back. Where are you going?”

“To be useful, unlike you,” Hiro sniffs over his shoulder, although he can’t look at Tadashi properly or he’ll start laughing. The silly idiot is attractive and he makes Hiro turn to goo, especially when he comes up behind him to kiss the back of his head. Which he’s doing right now, even when he can see that Hiro’s ears are red. Talk about rude. “I’m trying to work, if you don’t mind. Honestly, my kindness is wasted on you.”

“I’m grateful for you every day,” Tadashi says sweetly. Hiro snorts. “No, really, I am. Couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend, even if he does lie around on the furniture and steal all my clothes.”

Hiro turns around so quickly he gives them both whiplash. Tadashi catches him right before he can topple over, and Hiro clutches at his arms to steady himself. “What?”

Tadashi blinks. “What? You steal my clothes all the time, don’t think I don’t notice all the shirts missing—”

“No,” Hiro says, eyes wide. “Before that. You called me your boyfriend.”

“Oh. Oh, right, I, uh,” Tadashi says, face slowly turning a funny colour. Now his ears look all lobster-y. “Is that, uh. Is that okay? It’s just, we’re kind of already dating, and it’s been like six months since we met, and, uhm, yeah. Sorry. I won’t say it again if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t mind,” Hiro says almost before Tadashi’s done talking. “I – I mean, I’ll be your boyfriend. You can tell people,” he says, hands gesturing around helplessly. “That I’m your boyfriend. That’s…yeah.”

Tadashi stares at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hiro says, nodding vigorously. His heart feels like someone’s pulled the keys out of the ignition and had trouble starting up again. He’s not actually sure what else to say. The Hiro from six months ago would have pulled a muscle from spazzing, but Current Hiro just hops forward to throw his arms around Tadashi’s neck, happy to bury his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder until his stomach stops flopping around so much. “Heh. Boyfriends.”

“Yeah. Boyfriends,” Tadashi repeats, clearly trying not to laugh. It’s the cutest fucking thing, that Tadashi’s a nervous giggler, and Hiro hugs him closer, probably strangling him slightly although Tadashi doesn’t seem to mind. He’s suffocating Hiro just as much, anyway, arms tight around Hiro’s middle and showing no signs of letting up.

“I like that you’re doing an impression of a boa constrictor and all, but I need to breathe, big guy,” Hiro manages around his giddy smile. Tadashi’s grip loosens up, albeit reluctantly.

 

 

Hiro figures it’s prime time for a kiss. Tadashi’s face is warm when he cups it and his lips are dry because the idiot’s lost his Chapstick, but Hiro kisses him anyway, interrupted only by sporadic schoolboy giggling. “Are you— are you sure? That you’re okay with being boyfriends, though?” he gets out between kisses. Hard to forget Tadashi open and hurting under the streetlight all that time ago, telling Hiro that he didn’t deserve him and breaking his heart in a hundred different ways.

 

 

Tadashi presses their foreheads together. His breath is warm and uneven, and Hiro watches him through hooded eyes, fingers tangling in the material of Tadashi’s v-neck as he tries to catch his own breath.

 

 

“I,” he starts, and then pauses, hand heavy on Hiro’s back. Hiro waits.

Tadashi takes his time choosing his words, mouth forming silently around what he’s trying to say before he gets it right. “I’m going somewhere,” he says quietly. “I don’t know where, exactly, but I’m going. I didn’t think I could do that, I didn’t think I could be anything other than what I was, but now I feel more like _me_ , if that makes any sense. And I’m still scared,” his voice drops to a murmur. Hiro runs a thumb along his cheek. “I’m terrified. I’m afraid I won’t make it, and school will be too hard, and I don’t know what I’ll do when the four years are up, but I’m willing to try.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush against Hiro’s. “Because I’m…more. Than I was. Maybe I’m not enough, yet, but I think…I think that I can make you happy. I’m gonna fuck up, god, Hiro, I’m gonna fuck up _so many times_ , but I just,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I wanna make you proud so bad. I’ll never be able to give you what you deserve, but I want to try. If you’ll have me.”

“I’m proud of you already,” Hiro says, rubbing their noses. His chest is warm and heavy. Tadashi’s sweetness makes him shiver pleasantly, and he crowds closer, trying to get as little space between them as possible. “You’ve come so far, I’m so _proud.”_

“Really?”

“Really.You don’t have to ask if I’ll have you, dummy. I’ve liked you since day one. I like you so much I can hardly stand it,” Hiro says, squishing their faces together. “So, yeah. I’m boyfriending you. You can’t take it back now, it’s not allowed.”

“Uh oh,” Tadashi laughs under his breath. “Now what do I do?”

“Are you planning on making out more at any point? Because that’s a pretty good place to start. That should be the logical progression of things, after telling someone you wanna be their boyfriend. I could probably draw you a diagram if you need a clear explanation as to why you should be kissing me right now—”

“My god, I get it,” Tadashi pecks him on the mouth. It’s noisy and wet, and makes Hiro grin. “Shut up, I’ll kiss you all you want, stop complaining.”

“Yay,” Hiro says, just to be difficult. Tadashi’s tipping him backwards into an odd little arch, although Hiro hardly minds when it leads to more kisses down the side of his neck, stubble scratching him pleasantly because these days Tadashi doesn’t have to look nice for anyone other than Hiro. Teeth nibble his Adam’s apple. Hiro’s eyes flutter shut, one hand in Tadashi’s hair and the other clutching his shirt, breath coming out in the softest of sighs, little ripples of warmth spreading through him and as Tadashi’s hand strokes its way down Hiro’s spine and—

“Ah! You touched my butt!”

Tadashi bursts out laughing. “Yes, I did.”

Hiro hits him, although not hard enough to actually hurt. “Why’d you touch my butt?”

 

 

“It was right there. You’ve got a little bubble butt, it’s really cute.”

 

 

Hiro looks scandalized. Tadashi’s stupid giggling starts again, and he pulls Hiro into another hug (mind you, unwillingly so).  “Oh my god, you’re the _worst_. I can’t believe you’d take advantage of me when I’m alone and defenseless. Did you just put your hand in my back pocket? What are you trying to do, steal my wallet? You got the wrong pocket, doofus, it’s on the other side.”

“All I want to steal is your heart,” Tadashi says, and Hiro headbutts him. “Right, sorry, I’ve got that already. But I gave you mine, so I think we’re even. You’re right. Right now all I want is your body.”

“Oh, _real_ nice, I see what I’ve gotten myself into,” Hiro wriggles out of Tadashi’s grip so he can reach into the cupboard and throw a pair of boxer-shorts at him. “Get away from me, pervert, my chastity isn’t safe around you.”

The boxers actually meet their target, but Tadashi doesn’t seem too bothered. “Are you sure? You don’t look unhappy. Not that I can really see you with my underwear on my face.”

“I’m not smiling, I’m grimacing. Go get some more boxes or something, you’re awful.”

“As you wish,” Tadashi says mildly, one hand held up placatingly as the other tugs the errant shorts off his head. “Actually, Rajpal said he’d lend me a suitcase. I’ll go pick it up. You gonna be okay on your own?”

“I’ll be safer with you far away from me,” Hiro retorts, resolutely putting his head in the closet so Tadashi won’t see him smile. “Go on, now, get a move on. Let me do my job.”

Tadashi ambles away, and Hiro hears the door creak open when Tadashi leaves. He straightens up and hides a laugh behind his hand. Affection wedges itself into the spaces between his ribs and he bounces in place, feet tapping a rhythm he can’t discern. They’re boyfriends. Boyfriends who like each other. Boyfriends who touch each other’s butts and make out and eat pizza together and do boyfriend stuff.

_Nice._

Most of Tadashi’s clothes are already packed, save for a couple of things he’ll need to use over the week, and an innocuous-looking pair of plastic bags sitting at the top of his closet. Curious. Reaching up on tip-toes, Hiro snags the edge of one between his fingers, pulling gingerly until the bag and its sibling slide right off the cupboard and into his arms (and face).

They’re knotted up tight. Hiro manages to unpick one and root through its contents; they’re the costumes, he realises with glee. Sexy police officer, sexy fireman, sexy teacher, sexy blasphemous priest, sexy playboy bunny (which Hiro tosses onto the couch for safekeeping), sexy toga guy…

“Oh my god,” he snorts, pulling something offensive and sequined out of the bag and into the open. It’s a _skirt_. A surprisingly demure skirt, actually, if you ignore the sparkles and the gossamer white poofiness. Huh. Looks too small for Tadashi, although to be fair so do all of his crazy outfits. Might even fit Hiro, if he took off the shorts first.

Eh, fuck it. He’s always kind of wondered what it would be like, anyway. Unbuttoning his cut-offs, he kicks off his sneakers and steps into the skirt, zipping it up with some difficulty because of all the fabric. It hangs off one hip and reaches mid-thigh. Must be absolutely tiny when Tadashi wears it.

It’s not half bad, actually, although he still wouldn’t bother shaving his legs for this. Comfy, though. His nethers haven’t felt this nicely aired-out in a while, and he does an experimental twirl in front of the mirror built into the door.

And then yelps.

_“Delete that!_ ” he manages, covering his skirt with on hand and flipping Tadashi off with the other. The idiot’s got one hand clapped over his mouth to stifle his laughter, and the other’s holding his phone aloft, way too high for Hiro to reach when he bounds over to wrestle the evil thing from him. “Oh my god, you asshole, don’t just sneak in and take pictures of me without warning, you’re such a _creep._ ”

_“I’m_ the creep?” Tadashi bursts out laughing even as he keeps Hiro at bay with one hand. “You’re the one going through my junk and trying on my clothes.”

“I was _curious,_ ” Hiro says, and then huffs. “Fine, keep your stupid pictures. I look better in this than you do anyway.”

“I’m not arguing with that,” Tadashi giggles, allowing Hiro to stomp off back to the cupboard. “It’s cute. You can keep it, if you want, although you might need to have it taken in a little.”

Hiro grumbles something incoherent and flips him off again. Footsteps pad closer, and then Tadashi arms wind themselves around his waist. “Aw, don’t pout. You really do look cute.”

“I know,” Hiro sniffs, glancing surreptitiously for the phone. It’s nowhere in sight. “But you don’t deserve to see me in it. Go away so I can change.”

“You don’t need to change.”

“I don’t need you making fun of me, either.”

“Why can’t you just change here? What’s the big deal?”

Hiro makes a face. “You just wanna see me naked, perv.”

“Well, maybe I do.”

“What, really?”

Tadashi’s grin softens. “That’s up to you,” he says, kissing Hiro’s cheek. “I won’t lie, you’re _adorable_ , but I’ll leave if you want me to.”

Hiro’s stomach swoops. Tadashi thinks he’s _adorable_ , of all things. What a nerd. “Give me one good reason I should let you see me naked.”

“Well, I am your boyfriend.”

“True.” Hiro steps on Tadashi’s foot gently, eyes on the skirt so he won’t have to look him in the eye. He’s not opposed to the idea, not really. Anticipation tickles the very base of his stomach as he entertains the idea of them doing something more than PG-13. “I’m kind of a lame virgin.”

“I dunno, I seem to remember you getting to second base with a guy once _– ow,_ okay, okay, I’m sorry, don’t pinch me.” Caressing Hiro’s cheek, Tadashi rocks them both gently in place, pace soothing even despite the way Hiro’s insides squirm. “Well, it’s your decision. I’m happy with whatever makes you happy. We don’t have to do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable, okay? I’m serious. I want to go at your pace.”

Hiro considers this. His pace has involved half a bottle of hand lotion and some suspiciously long showers, although he’d never really been brave enough to entertain the idea that he might ever have company. But Tadashi’s here, and he feels good and solid and strong against him, and Hiro keeps his gaze fixed on his own fingers plucking at a stray thread on Tadashi’s shirt. “I trust you,” he says almost shyly. “And you’re my boyfriend now, so I guess it would be fun to try.”

Tadashi takes his hand and kisses it. “You sure, muffin? Don’t feel like I’m pressuring you.”

“Don’t call me a muffin,” Hiro says half-heartedly. He’s physically incapable of forming any more words at this point, because the butterflies are sure to escape the moment he opens his mouth. Instead he steels himself and looks up, meeting Tadashi’s eyes dead on, breathing steady even if it is a little fast.

 

 

 

Kissing him is easy. He’s done it countless times, even with tongue, although the context is a little new. He can learn on the fly. Tadashi makes little noises of encouragement, and in a moment of bravery, Hiro slips his fingers under the hem of Tadashi’s t-shirt, his stomach flat but firm.

Tadashi twitches. “ _Jesus,_ your hands are cold.”

“Well you just have to deal with it.” Hiro lets his hand roam slowly higher; Tadashi obligingly keeps still so Hiro can do what he likes, his own hand resting on Hiro’s hip without doing anything more. “Is it – is it okay if I take this off?”

“Yeah,” Tadashi replies just as quietly, retrieving his hand so Hiro can gingerly work his shirt off his body. The slip of skin gets wider and wider, Hiro’s fingers skating over Tadashi’s ribs until Tadashi has to lift his arms over his head to get the wretched thing off entirely.

He has to stop to breathe. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, nothing he hasn’t touched before, but Hiro’s heart is still pounding, blood rushing through his ears as he takes a proper look. Tadashi’s lean, nowhere near as thin as Hiro but hips narrow regardless, a faint trail of hair running down his stomach and disappearing into the waistband of his loose jeans.

“Look at me,” Tadashi tilts Hiro’s chin up, thumb against his lower lip to ground him. “It’s okay. Everything is okay, sweetheart. Do you want to stop?”

Slowly, Hiro shakes his head. He’s stirring already, tummy warm in appreciation of how good Tadashi looks close up, how sweet and blessedly normal he is when he’s standing in his shit apartment instead of a moodily-lit club. Hiro can do this.

He can, and he does, very slowly, undoing the buckle of Tadashi’s belt with measured movements, Tadashi peppering kisses onto his cheeks even as his jeans fall off his hips and pool around his knees. He’s wearing grey cotton shorts, and Hiro’s suddenly seized with a moment of nerves. Is he going to look okay undressed? Is he wearing cute underwear? Not really, they’re just blue boxer shorts, nothing all that fancy, maybe they’re better off postponing until Hiro’s had some time to prepare—

“You’re squirming,” he says suddenly, realizing with a jolt that Tadashi’s fidgeting as he stands. Tadashi shrugs helplessly, hands still cupping Hiro’s face as he steps awkwardly out of his jeans.

“You’re staring at me, it’s making me nervous,” he admits. “Been a while since I’ve been undressed in front of someone I really liked.”

That makes Hiro smile. A tiny one, that Tadashi returns, and his heart stops hammering somewhat. Tadashi’s just another person, just like Hiro is, and there’s nothing to be afraid of.

 

 

Breathing in deep, Hiro tugs his own shirt off his body, fully aware of how scrawny and young he must look next to his new boyfriend. His flush spreads all the way to his chest, turns out. Maybe he should try going into the sun more often. Without three layers on, because there are tan lines on his wrists. And on his knees, when he unzips that stupid pixie skirt and lets it fall off.

Tadashi doesn’t seem to mind too much. Almost reverently, he runs a finger down Hiro’s sternum, making Hiro shiver when he brushes against a ticklish spot. Chewing his lip – _oh no, that’s attractive_ — Tadashi meets his eyes. “Do you wanna…you wanna maybe go to bed?”

Right. Bed. Good place for doing what Hiro thinks they’re going to be doing, and he looks up at the loft. There’s a ladder by the side, which Tadashi leads him to, climbing up first and leaning over the edge to give Hiro a hand up. “Sheets are clean, this time.”

“Too bad your bed is in outer space,” Hiro grumbles, appeased only slightly when Tadashi pulls him to his chest. There are little white lanterns taped along the headboard, and Hiro snorts at them quietly. “What are those?”

“I don’t have space for a lamp, loser,” Tadashi rolls his eyes, reaching to the plug on the wall to turn them off. The only light they have now is the soft glow from the living room, and the moonlight shining through Tadashi’s small window and right onto the mattress. One arm still around him, Hiro can almost feel the way Tadashi’s eyes rake up and down his body, lingering on the dip of his waist and the way Hiro’s legs are curled under him. Hiro lets him look. He’s no work of art, he knows, but the way Tadashi’s quietly appreciating him makes his heart skip a beat. Tadashi kisses his ear. “You know you kind of glow in the dark with how pale you are.”

Hiro hits him. Tadashi starts laughing again, although this time Hiro can’t help but do the same. “God, you’re such a _dick._ ”

“No, don’t be mad,” Tadashi tugs him over, pouting when Hiro playfully tries to shove him away. “I think it’s cute. Your skin looks like—”

“—don’t you dare say mayo—”

“—I was going to say porcelain.”

“Oh.” That makes him blink. Hiro’s skin looks like porcelain. Oddly flattering, even though it makes him sound like some delicate princess. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” says Tadashi dryly. Tipping them both over, Tadashi tangles their legs together and runs a hand through Hiro’s hair, chests almost touching even as their breathing starts to sync. “You’re cute. I mean it, you know. I don’t know what it is about you exactly, but I like you a lot. I’ve always wanted to be with you like this. Never thought I was good enough, though. Still don’t.”

Hiro shimmies closer to hold Tadashi’s hand. “Don’t be dumb. I like you too, and you’re good enough. Fight me.”

“I’d lose,” Tadashi says, letting Hiro smooch him. “Hurting you would be like kicking a kitten, I could never do it.”

“I’ll sit on your laptop and shed all over the couch” Hiro threatens, worming his way half-under Tadashi. His skin is warm and smooth against Hiro’s, and Hiro sighs in appreciation of Tadashi above him and soft cotton sheets below. “And I’ll push all your stuff off your table. I’ve learnt enough from watching Mochi.”

“Mochi’s a sweetheart, unlike you,” Tadashi says. Hiro bites his cheek. “Ow, see? You’re attacking me. I trusted you.” Digging his fingers into Hiro’s ribs and making him squawk, Tadashi sits up. “Oh, what’s this? You’re ticklish?”

“No,” Hiro says immediately. Tadashi’s smile turns predatory. “No, no no nonono get off go _away—_ ”

Hiro yelps when his asshole boyfriend blows a raspberry into his stomach, making Hiro shriek with the most unattractive laughter mortal man has ever produced. Tadashi laughs and Hiro kicks him, knee landing square in his stomach, although evidently not hard enough because Tadashi doesn’t stop laughing even if he does stop the torture. “You snort like a little piggy.”

Hiro kind of wants to cry. Six months ago Tadashi was a sexual fantasy come to life, now he’s an _idiot_. “Oh my god, I’m breaking up with you.”

Tadashi turns his head, grin big and incredibly annoying. “Nope, no takebacks, you said it yourself.” He presses his ear to Hiro’s stomach. “Oh, I can hear the ocean.”

“That’s indigestion,” Hiro wheezes, face crumpling terribly from laughing so hard. “Get _off_ me, you asshat. I can’t believe I used to think you were sexy.”

“Aww, you thought I was sexy?”

“No.”

Tadashi kisses his stomach. “It’s okay, I was getting paid to act sexy. I’d much rather you thought I was nice.”

“I don’t,” Hiro says, letting Tadashi climb all over him.  “I think you’re a sinner and you need to go to church.”

“Me? A sinner? Are you suggesting that I would have sexual relations with another man?”

“I’m suggesting you’re an asshole,” Hiro says matter-of-factly, breath coming out in a soft _oof_ when Tadashi flops over him. His weight is surprisingly comfortable, rather than oppressive. “You might want to lay off the pizza.”

“Shut up, you disappear when you turn sideways, don’t tell me what to eat.” His teeth scrape gently along Hiro’s collarbone, reminding him abruptly that they didn’t actually come up here to roll around and be stupid. Sneaky. “Although, I gotta say it suits you. Makes me think I could snap you in half if I held you wrong. It’s kinda hot.”

“You’re weird,” Hiro breathes, voice coming out whispery without him intending it. Tadashi’s latched on to the soft spot at the hollow of his throat, tongue poking between his collarbones before he’s nibbling along his chest. A thumb flicks over his nipple. Hiro puts a hand in Tadashi’s hair. “What are you doing?”

“You seem to like it,” Tadashi says quietly, voice low and smooth as he kisses his way over to where his hand is, latching on to the sensitive spot with great concentration. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,”Hiro says, clinging to him. It’s weird, the sensation of a tongue flicking across his chest, but he likes the soft suction anyway. He clamps his lips shut. Wrapping his legs around Tadashi’s waist, Hiro clutches the sheets and lets his boyfriend do what he will. The butterflies are back with a vengeance, dispelled only briefly by the goofing around, and Hiro’s breath catches when Tadashi looks up for just long enough to catch his eye. Resisting the impulse to squirm away, Hiro keeps still and takes a deep breath.

 

The kisses continue in a slow, arbitrary trail up and down his stomach. Hiro can remember wondering what this would be like. He hadn’t expected Tadashi to be quite so kind, stopping every few minutes to ask if Hiro’s alright and if he’s okay to continue. Hiro probably couldn’t stop if he tried. He’s writhing and hot and tingly, and he’s pretty sure Tadashi can feel the bulge in his underwear even if he doesn’t say anything about it.

Hiro can’t see from here if Tadashi wants this just as bad as Hiro does. He hasn’t seen Tadashi naked at all, hasn’t done much with him aside from kissing and cuddling and the occasional brush over clothes. He has no real idea what he’s in for. “Tadashi?”

Lips pause in mouthing at the juncture of his hip. “Hmm?”

Hiro swallows. “…this isn’t you thanking me again, is it?”

 

 

 

There’s silence for a second. Fuck. Hiro probably shouldn’t have asked, he must have offended Tadashi somehow, he should apologise. Heart swooping unpleasantly, he clears his throat and opens his mouth.

Tadashi beats him to it, though. His kiss is hard, fingers intertwining with Hiro’s and bodies pressed together. Their teeth clack with how desperately Tadashi seems to want to kiss him, and Hiro makes a soft noise of surprise. “No, Hiro. Not this time. Me buying you dinner was a thank you. I’m doing this because I want to. Because I want _you._ I promise you. I _promise.”_

“Okay.” He’s relieved, honestly. He feels small, and vulnerable, and he clings when Tadashi hugs him. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Good,” Tadashi breathes against his cheek. “Hiro, you… you want me too, right? Because you like me? Not just because I’m a stripper?”

Hiro’s heart clenches. “Of course not. I want you. I _like_ you.”

 

“Okay.” Tadashi’s smile is small and genuine, and Hiro kisses it. His hand runs down the smooth skin of Hiro’s stomach, coming to a rest lightly between his legs.

Hiro gasps. He’d been expecting it but it _still_ feels nice, because he’s got a gorgeous man who likes him leaning over him and trying to make him feel good. Tadashi traces a finger over the outline of Hiro’s dick, and Hiro lifts his hips so Tadashi can tug his underwear off to be tossed in a corner of the bed somewhere. He’s…not quite sure what to do with himself. Lying against the sheets, completely naked, glad that he can only be seen by the silver light coming in through the window. It’s hard not to want to crawl under the duvet. Nobody’s ever seen him like this, raw and unprotected. Flushed. Wanting. Nobody’s looked at him the way Tadashi’s looking at him right now, face almost sad. He looks the way he’d looked when he’d first told Hiro how he felt.

He can’t do this. He covers his face with his hands, curling in on himself until Tadashi gently pulls them away. “Please don’t hide,” he says quietly. He looks helpless. “Hiro, you’re perfect. I wish you could see yourself right now. I wish you could see you the way I see you. You’re the most beautiful thing, Hiro, I…I would really, really like to touch you. If that’s okay.”

Hiro can only nod. His voice is dried up in his throat, although he does appreciate the kiss Tadashi gives him, and the kisses trailing down his torso to where he wants Tadashi the most. Oh god. The man’s mouth is warm, and _wet,_ and Hiro whimpers at the long, sucking kisses Tadashi leaves on his thighs, probably bruising him where no one will see. His fingers tangle in the sheets. His breath is short and shallow, quiet mewls of encouragement the only sounds aside from the rustle of sheets and the soft noises Tadashi makes as he pleasures him. It’s overwhelming. What if he tastes bad? What if Tadashi isn’t having fun, what if Hiro finishes too soon and then Tadashi can’t continue? What if Tadashi wants to go all the way, and Hiro doesn’t know what to do?

_“Breathe,”_ Tadashi murmurs to him, breath warm against wet skin. Hiro wills his heartbeat to go down. Tadashi runs a comforting hand along his leg, slow and in time with Hiro’s breathing. “I’ve got you, Hiro. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

He’s so _gentle_. Hiro sighs and wriggles against the mattress, Tadashi building up a rhythm that has Hiro bucking his hips before he realises it. Tadashi takes it with good grace. He’s amazing, although Hiro honestly can’t tell if it’s skill or how careful he’s being or how full Hiro’s heart is with everything Tadashi’s ever made him feel. He won’t last. He knows this for a fact, and he’d say as much if he could speak, but if he tried now he’d just sound like a rusty door hinge. Tadashi has him. Tadashi’s here, and he’s real, so Hiro lets it happen.

It’s a short, glorious burst. Back arching, voice keening, toes curling, hips lifting, right until Tadashi pushes them back down so he can draw Hiro out properly. Everything feels like static. Tadashi doesn’t let up until a little after he’s done, by which time Hiro’s ready to pass out, muscles uncoiled and spilling all over the sheets like so much jell-o.

 

“Hey.” Hiro lets himself be scooped up and spilled into Tadashi’s chest, skin over-stimulated and sensitive when Tadashi runs a hand down his bare back to sooth the shivers. The edges of his sight are blurry and there’s turbulence in his head. His heartbeat’s erratic and his breathing comes heavy. Tadashi’s chin rests on the crown of his head. “You okay, Hiro?”

Tadashi pulls the covers over them both, blocking out the light as Hiro is tucked out of sight and into safety. “’M’okay,” Hiro manages, voice a little raspy. His chest feels…full. Not really in a good way, but not really in a bad way. Tadashi is solid and real and an anchor, and Hiro clings and waits for his heart to stop wobbling so helplessly. “I’m okay. I just…I’m okay.”

Tadashi hums soothingly and nudges his leg between Hiro’s knees. His underwear feels odd against Hiro’s bare skin. “We can stop now, if you want. First times can be kinda intense and emotional and,” he pauses to press a kiss onto Hiro’s forehead, “I don’t want to scare you. I just want you to feel good and be happy. And safe. I want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” says Hiro hoarsely, curled into fetal position as he is with Tadashi wrapped around him. It’s true. He still feels kind of wrung out and strange, and his head’s kind of cottony, but Tadashi’s still there. Cautiously, he kisses him on the mouth; Tadashi tastes different, now. He tastes like _Hiro_. The thought gives him flutters in his stomach. Is this dirty? It’s probably dirty.

Tadashi kisses back with enthusiasm. This is surreal. Hiro’s tasting himself on another man. Another man who seems content to lie down with him and go to bed, in fact, fingers caressing Hiro’s prominent hip bones.

 

But Hiro doesn’t want that. Hiro wants him to feel the way Hiro just did, even a little bit. Hiro wants to be the one to make Tadashi feel that way.

He shifts his knee. Tadashi’s hard and still partly dressed. Not an ideal situation. Slowly, Hiro sits up, curiosity and determination not to be a lame virgin winning over his desire to curl up and to sleep. Everything will be fine. His head is clear, now, and he’s not going to burst into tears, no matter what his shaky hands tell him. Deep breaths. Tadashi won’t leave, and he won’t hurt him.

Tadashi blinks at him from his pillow. The covers are removed. The bulge in Tadashi’s underwear is pretty obvious, and – Hiro runs his tongue over his lower lip. It looks _nice_. Sizeable, not enough to split him open but big enough that Hiro doesn’t think he’d be able to swallow it all if he tried. He hooks a finger into the waistband of Tadashi’s boxer-briefs. Tadashi turns; his skin is a pretty tan against the white sheets, frame lithe and pliable-looking, and he puts a hand to Hiro’s cheek. “Are you sure?”

Hiro nods. It’s with some triumph that he finally gets to do what he’s been wanting to do for ages; Tadashi is freed from the constraints of the last of clothes, and Hiro doesn’t pay attention to where he puts the underwear because oh.

_Oh._

 

He’s staring. He knows he’s staring, because poor Tadashi’s wriggling back to hide under the covers, and Hiro has to put a hand on his leg to stop him. He’s not really sure what to think. The only genitalia he’s seen in real life are his own, and this is, well. Definitely not his own. It’s a little nerve-wracking, actually. Cautiously, he wraps a hand around it, and kind of just…leaves it there.

“Are you _sure_ ,” Tadashi says again, voice uncertain. Hiro nods again. Tactical decision. How to handle the problem; it’s a pretty big problem that he’s got on his hands. _In_ his hand, rather. It’s probably something like touching himself. They can’t be all that different, he’s sure. Taking his hand away to lick his palm, Hiro tries a stroke upwards.

Seems to work fairly well. Tadashi’s eyes flutter shut for a second, and Hiro slides his hand down this time, fingers squeezing reflexively at the base. He never has to think about this when he does it to himself. Might be why he’s always horny half an hour later, actually, but he’ll be happy to deal with that problem should it arise in Tadashi’s case. Heh. Arise.

“Please don’t laugh at my penis,” Tadashi says, his own smile lopsided nonetheless.

Hiro shrugs and rubs his thumb over the slit, enjoying Tadashi’s sharp intake of breath. He lets go for a second; this is fun and all, but getting kinda boring and he’s not actually sure he’s really achieving much. “I’m not laughing at it, I’m just smiling. It’s a good dick, really. You’re probably gonna get lots of use out of this one, look --” he bends and puts it to his ear. “Hello? Dominoes?”

Tadashi puts his hands over his face and whines. “Please. _Please,_ god, don’t let the one good boyfriend I choose turn out to be a complete lunatic who thinks you can order a pizza on a dick.”

“Yeah, reception probably isn’t great from here,” Hiro shrugs, chuckling when Tadashi groans louder. He’s firm and warm in Hiro’s hand, and the feel of having it so close to his face makes him shiver pleasurably. “Hey could you – could you close your eyes for a second? I’m getting nervous with you watching me.”

Tadashi regards him for a second, and then mentally shrugs and acquiesces. Hiro breathes a sigh of relief. Feels like a lot less pressure without Tadashi visually judging him, and he darts his tongue out to take a tiny lick at the tip. It’s weird and salty, but Tadashi it makes Tadashi bite his lip, so he does it again. And again, properly this time, the taste starting to get a little less odd. It just feels like he’s licking regular skin. Regular skin that’s attached to a penis, and happens to be veiny and super-sensitive and okay _maybe_ he can see why Tadashi took his time running the flat of his tongue from the base of Hiro’s cock to the tip and then kissing back down, because honestly this is kind of fun. Difficult, because he has to keep his lips wrapped around his teeth for safety’s sake, but fun.

He feels a little silly getting saliva everywhere, but the way Tadashi’s breathing makes it clear that’s the opposite of a problem. It’s weirdly empowering. Tadashi’s enjoying it even if Hiro has to use his hands because he can’t fit everything into his mouth, and even though he’s basically winging it and trying not to choke.

Very carefully bobbing his head, Hiro tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and chances a glance up to see if Tadashi likes this. The dick slips out of his mouth with a funny sounding _pop._ “I thought I told you not to look.”

“Can’t help it,” Tadashi shrugs, not seeming terribly sorry. “You’re hot. I’d be stupid to listen to you.”

Hiro rolls his eyes, although he feels his ears go a little warm. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine.” Holding a hand out, Tadashi tugs gently on Hiro’s hair. “Come here a second. Lie down, I wanna do something.”

“No good?” Hiro says sheepishly, letting himself be arranged on his back. Tadashi’s lying on him, forearms on either side of Hiro’s head, biceps standing out in a way that might be entirely unintentional but is appreciated nonetheless. “Sorry. I’ll probably get better at that.”

“It’s not that,” Tadashi gives him a kiss. “I wanna be closer to you. Don’t like having you so far away even if it feels good.”

Oh. Scratching shyly at his cheek, Hiro wriggles when Tadashi manages to somehow align them both so they’re rubbing against each other. If Hiro wasn’t hard before, he sure as hell is getting there. Getting horny again after half an hour comes in handy, he supposes.

The slow drag of hips is _delicious_ , and Hiro wraps his arms and legs around Tadashi on reflex, humming in pleasure at the endearingly rhythmless way they slide together. Tadashi pauses for a second to rummage around in the corner of the bed for a tiny bottle of lubricant – _oh, shut up, I’ve never even opened it so don’t you dare accuse me of cheating on you_ – and squirt some haphazardly onto his fingers. It’s cold. Feels good, though. Slippery. Comfy, especially because Hiro can stop worrying about it being difficult for them to grind and kiss at the same time.

“Go a little harder?” he manages breathlessly against Tadashi’s mouth. Tadashi obliges, hips slowing but getting more brutal, which is honestly perfect right now because that other orgasm has Hiro feeling a little less sensitive than he would normally do. It’s not even the actual mechanical stimulation that’s making his blunt fingernails dig into Tadashi’s back. It’s the feel of him. The very fact that he’s here and murmuring sweet nothings into Hiro’s ear, hard and wanting Hiro just as much as Hiro wants him. Tadashi wants him. He’s not doing this for Hiro’s sake, he’s not asking for permission before nipping insistently at Hiro’s neck, he’s not pulling away when Hiro ruts back harder, instead meeting him halfway and building up an hypnotic rhythm as he pushes Hiro back into the mattress.

“Hiro,” Tadashi groans quietly, forehead pressed to Hiro’s and eyes tight shut as his hips start rolling harder. It’s not enough, they’re not perfectly lined up and every time Tadashi moves Hiro makes a soft noise of desperation because he wants them to be _closer_. “Hiro, can I – please, I want, a little more, just a little more, _please.”_

Hiro couldn’t agree with him more. Hard to articulate at the moment so he says it the only way he can think of, an enthusiastic kiss full of tongue and his voice and a little bit of teeth. Tadashi takes the hint. He’s getting erratic, now, forceful and needy, mattress bouncing and bedboards creaking and he’s close, he’s so close--

 

The loft frame shifts. Both of them shriek.

 

There’s a moment of tense, terrified silence. The bed frame doesn’t make any other sudden movements, and neither of them go plummeting down the eight-foot drop to the floor. Stiffly, Hiro peels his nails out of Tadashi’s back, even as his poor petrified boyfriend continues to cling to him. “Oh my god.”

Tadashi looks like he’s having a mini-stroke. “Oh my god. Oh my god, we almost _died.”_

Hiro laughs. Can’t really help it, he’s a little hysterical and he’s pretty sure his boner’s wilted somehow back into his body. Tadashi looks like at him like he’s crazy, which, to be fair, he probably is. “Your bed is shit.”

“Well it’s never wanted to come off the walls before,” Tadashi croaks, gingerly peeling himself off of Hiro and creeping towards the furthermost edge. “Fuck, I can’t see what the problem is. I don’t know if it’s broken.”

Hiro stuffs his fist against his mouth to stop the crazy giggling. “Who cares, you’re not gonna live here anymore.”

“I paid a deposit, Hiro,” Tadashi says, although his face is starting to regain a bit of colour. Hiro’s stupid grin is contagious, looks like, because Tadashi’s laughing too. “Fuck. That was _intense_. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. Imagine that, dead right after winning a scholarship.”

“Least I’d be dead before I had to think about paying back my student loans,” Hiro snorts, holding his arms out for Tadashi to come back to him. “We gonna continue, or what?”

“As much as I’d love to, that might actually kill us both,” Tadashi says. Hiro kisses him, and then mushes their faces together and thinks.

“Okay. Okay, no, I know what to do. Here, get off me for a sec.” Very carefully, he shimmies his way across the bed and clambers down the ladder, self-conscious and naked as Tadashi’s head pops over the edge to peer at him. “Toss the blankets down. And the pillows. And then you, too.”

“I’ll take the ladder, thanks,” Tadashi says, although he tosses the bedding down as requested. Hiro catches most of it and gets to work making them a nest, flopping comfortably down when Tadashi finally joins him. “We gonna canoodle on the floor?”

“We’re not gonna canoodle anywhere, that sounds gross,” Hiro says, physically incapable of not hugging Tadashi the moment he’s within touching distance. “We’re gonna, I dunno. Do sexy stuff.”

“Sexy stuff,” Tadashi repeats flatly, letting his body weight bowl them both over and onto the cheap pillows. “Romantic. I feel myself swooning already.”

“You’re flattening me,” Hiro complains, although he secretly likes it. “Come on, I wanna do more sexy stuff. I was having fun.”

“Demanding,” Tadashi chides indulgently, settling back into his position between Hiro’s legs. Hiro tangles his fingers in Tadashi’s short hair and kisses him gleefully, legs wrapping around his waist again. “Ah, shit, I left the lube up there – hold on.” Spitting into his palm and making Hiro wrinkle his nose, he wraps his hands around both of them and gives his hand a slow, experimental pump. “How’s that?”

“Good,” Hiro hums, eyes slipping shut. Tadashi’s pressed against him properly, now, no longer shifting out of place whenever he moves his hips. “Hurry up and touch me. You’re not touching me enough.”

“It’s never gonna be enough,” Tadashi kisses him, although he doesn’t explain what that’s supposed to mean.

It’s surprisingly easy to get back into the groove of things, and everything tingles with the remains of adrenaline and the pulse of orgasm that he’d seen the edge of but had taken away from him by shoddy Ikea furniture. Tadashi’s hand is warm and calloused and Hiro trills in pleasure, Tadashi’s lips on his neck sucking red marks of stolen affection. This is even better than the first time. Tadashi’s with him and he’s free to buck his hips in time with Tadashi’s and Tadashi’s voice is low and reverberating against his skin and everything is hot and _sublime,_ even with Tadashi’s weight on him, even with the hard floor unforgiving against his back through a thing duvet. He’s going to come. Again, because of Tadashi, because everything up to this point has been because of Tadashi.

_“Hiro.”_ It’s murmured against his lips, and Hiro’s stomach flips like a cheap burger at his name on Tadashi’s tongue. He wonders what it tastes like. Maybe like metal, or sweets, or maybe just like Hiro. Either way Tadashi seems to like it because he says it again, whispery-rough, muscles in his arm straining to support himself and the other straining to keep up with the rapid _pump pump pump_ of his fist. He’s intoxicating. This feeling of closeness is intoxicating, and something warm and nameless spills out of him at the thought that now they get to share this whenever they want.

The orgasm’s a lot gentler the second time around. He keens and tightens around Tadashi, and Tadashi lets himself be held but doesn’t stop, biting his lip at the slickness that coats the inside of his fist and makes their movements that much better. Hiro shudders and moans and says Tadashi’s name and Tadashi almost _sobs_ , curling in on himself when he finally finishes. He’s shivering. Hiro wraps his arms around Tadashi tighter and coos wordlessly.

 

 

 

 

They stay like that a while. It’s dark and quiet and half of Tadashi’s face is lit by moonlight and the other Hiro has to map out with a hand to kiss him. The air is heavy. His chest is heavy, and Tadashi’s heavy and warm and Hiro really, really doesn’t want him to move.

“Don’t go,” he says, clinging tighter when Tadashi shifts. His skin’s clammy with sweat and they both smell like sex but Hiro really doesn’t care. Tadashi kisses his forehead and Hiro feels him smile.

“Gotta wash my hand, sweetheart. And maybe clean us both off, or we’ll wake up stuck to each other come tomorrow.”

Hiro blinks himself back to reality. “I can stay?”

Tadashi laughs at him. Quietly, and not unkindly. “Of course you can stay, dummy. I’d like nothing more. You’ve never spent the night here even though you’re around all the time,” he adds bashfully. “It would be nice. At least once, before I move out.”

“Okay,” Hiro says, pleasantly bewildered enough to release Tadashi so he can shuffle off to the sink to wash his hands. He comes back with a damp dish cloth, and it’s cold and uncomfortable even though Tadashi takes care in cleaning the sticky stuff off his stomach.

They end up cuddling again in short order, at least, Hiro burrowing into Tadashi and the sheets. It’s kind of uncomfortable, but whatever. He’d much rather be here than at home. Or in that death trap of a bed. Honestly, it’s a miracle the idiot hasn’t fallen to his death yet. Or poisoned himself on an overdose of instant noodles.

 

Well. Hiro can fix that. Tadashi will have a job at the Lucky Cat by the end of the month if he has anything to say about it, and he’ll be taking enough leftovers home to last him til graduation.

Tadashi’s skin is smooth and warm against his, and Hiro presses his nose into Tadashi’s neck and lets the fingers in his hair lull him half-asleep. “Thank you,” Tadashi says quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the city and the creak of his ceiling fan. “For sharing your first time with me. I’m really, really glad that you...that you trust me, I guess.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you ever listen to me when I tell you how much I like you,” Hiro snuffles a laugh against his collarbone. “Stop thanking me. But, I’m glad you’re my first time, too.”

“Thanks. Again. Not for this, I mean,” Tadashi rambles as Hiro yawns. “I mean, for getting me into SFIT. And not giving up on me. It’s…I don’t know how to tell you what this feels like. To know that this isn’t the best I can do. I don’t know what I would have done without you insisting I try to be more.”

His heartbeat’s slow against Hiro’s ear. “You have all of university to make it up to me,” he says simply. “I like pizza, bot fighting, and long walks on the beach.”

“And me,” Tadashi smiles against the top of his head. “See? I listen.”

“Mmm.” Tadashi’s voice sounds like a motor with Hiro’s ear pressed against his chest. It’s a bit like listening to Mochi purr, and Hiro’s eyes slide shut of their own accord, background noise and Tadashi’s steady hands hypnotic. “Talk to me more,” he murmurs. “I like it when you talk.”

The quiet chatter continues, meaningless words that Hiro loves more for the sound than for the meaning. It’s a bit like falling asleep through the sounds of the café, except this time he’s naked and warm and safe. It makes him tangle their legs together and breath out slow and deep, tummy warm as the rest of the world starts to fade, the only important thing right now being the arm around his waist.

The fan keeps creaking. The pauses in their one-sided conversation start getting longer and longer, until it stops completely, and Tadashi’s breathing evens out to match Hiro’s. The rest of the world keeps going. The _marimo_ float happily in their jar and a cat meows as it digs through the garbage.

Hiro doesn’t notice. He falls into dreamless sleep, lying on the fake hardwood floor, surrounded by boxes and cheap bedsheets.

And Tadashi.

His _boyfriend._

 

  
Heh.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was reading an ethnography about asian immigrants in san fransisco (obviously relevant) and the pacific rim area:
> 
> "mrs chan wanted to add a third story to her house but residents pressured city hall to stop the plans, claiming that it would block the view of the palace of fine arts. one was quoted as saying 'we don't want a second Chinatown here'.
> 
> mrs chan, in retaliation, pulled out all her US investments, donated her million dollar home to the homeless, and, to add insult to injury, stated that her house should not admit any Chinese homeless so that they don't worry the locals.
> 
> her achitect, also Chinese, noted that 'you hardly find homeless Chinese people anyway.' "
> 
>  
> 
> also i bought one of those realistic fish pencil cases and it's the best thing i've ever wasted twenty dollars on. 
> 
>  
> 
> if you didn't make it this far, you probably made the right choice. if you did, then, well, thank. i'm gonna punch you all in the face. gently. with my mouth. because i love you.
> 
> EDIT: christ almighty i just realised, i dont think i showed you all [ this beautiful fanart](http://thehomodabrothers.tumblr.com/post/128632110051/bennefrosting-the-world-hiro) yet, but to be honest this is a very good way to end the fic. 
> 
> thank you all and goodnight!


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